


In a Rêverie

by sniperct



Series: Overwatch [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Existential Crisis, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, Girls with Guns, Haircuts, Humor, Identity Issues, Lesbian Character, Mental Institutions, On the Run, Slow Burn, UST, body autonomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sniperct/pseuds/sniperct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Do you think we’ll wake up, and everything will be a nightmare again?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Widowmaker and Tracer have their ballet of violence down to an art form, neither ever expecting to take the upper hand. And then one of them does, changing the playing field forever. Injured and hunted by Talon, Widowmaker and Tracer attempt to lay low and recover. Of course, it's never that simple. Not when the ice begins to thaw and Widowmaker has to discover who she's going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Sometimes You Hear The Bullet

Time was a fluid thing, and Lena Oxton could swim through it in whichever direction she chose, as long as her harness functioned well. Just far back enough (or forward) to give her that instant advantage in a fight. More than once she'd been a split second away from one of Widowmaker's bullets in her forehead. That was a game they played, a deadly flirtation that would likely end with one or both of them in early graves.

Lena shot a barrage at Reaper, then blinked past him. Behind him now, she emptied the clip on her pistol, but before he could return fire, she'd dashed into a tunnel to give her harness time to recharge. She zipped through the tunnel, stepping from darkness and into light, blinking forward again to the sound of thunder cracking. The impact sent her spinning into a confectioner's cart. Dazed, she tried to pick herself up. Blood stained her jacket, pouring out of a wound in her chest. She sucked in a breath, dazed.

A flash of sun on glass brought her attention to the sniper on a rooftop. Widowmaker had lifted her head from her scope and was staring at her. She was too far away to read her expression, but the fact that there had been only one shot told Lena than her foe hadn't expected to actually hit her.

She lifted her hand to wave, before falling back to her knees. Footsteps approached her from behind, but she didn't have the energy to look. A barrel pressed against the back of her head, and a gravelly voice growled, "Finally."

She could get out of this. It would be easy. She just needed a few more seconds for her harness to charge back up and to not bleed out or something. Problem was, it was two seconds longer than she had.

Blood sprayed above her head, the boom of Widowmaker's rifle following close behind. Lena fell forward, landing on her side, staring at where Reaper's body lay, foot twitching. Blood oozed out of a hole in his left temple the size of a two-pence coin.

A purple boot stepped between her and the dead man, and she tilted her head to stare up Widowmaker's long, shapely legs. Out of breath, and with her vision starting to blur, she couldn't help the words that came out of her mouth. "Ya know, luv, I've been wondering, but do ya paint that outfit on every morning and would ya like some help to get out of it?"

Widowmaker kneeled, grabbing Tracer by the chin and forcing her to look up again. Her tone was accusing. "You were too slow today."

"Shite luck, I guess?"

With a heavy sigh, Widowmaker bundled Lena in her arms and stood. The Brit mumbled something like 'oh nice, that'll do,' which Widowmaker ignored. If asked, she couldn't say what had possessed her to do any of this. The consequences were stark on her mind. If she was lucky, she was a dead woman. If she was unlucky, they were going to rip her mind to shreds and make her a blank slate. And Widowmaker didn't want to be a blank slate again. She had remembered who Amélie was, even if she didn’t want to be her any longer.


	2. Warmth

It was cold and dark when consciousness returned to Tracer. She didn’t recognize where she was. The room was cramped, and she was laying in a tiny little bed, tucked in under a shelf. The only light came from her harness, and from the bathroom. The door was open, and she could see Widowmaker’s shadow behind the curtain of the shower. It was like every bad fanfiction she’d ever found about Overwatch and Talon that featured the sniper. And a couple she’d written.

She didn’t have the energy to move her head, even if she was inclined to. Her attraction to Amélie Lacroix had been an instant one. It was looks, at least at first. Lena was shallow enough to admit that Widowmaker ticked several of her favorite checkboxes for her type of woman. But with each new encounter, she’d gotten more and more into the woman’s head. They’d stopped trying to actually kill each other, and spent more time trying to one up each other in a violent dance. Sometimes, Widowmaker tried harder to kill her than others.

Widowmaker stepped out of the shower, leaning over the sink to wipe steam from the mirror. She could feel Lena’s eyes on her.

“...oh nice, that’ll do,” Lena breathed. Widowmaker’s hair hung down to the small of her back. It clung to her blue skin, until she pulled it up to wrap it in a towel. Words came unbidden. “You’re bloody _gorgeous_ …”

Looking towards the bed, Widowmaker couldn’t believe the leer on Lena’s face. Rolling her eyes, she moved into the small room. She sat on the edge of the bed to inspect Lena’s injury. “It’s just a body. Yet everyone always stares.”

The smile on Lena’s face faded a little. She supposed that the people that made Widowmaker into a weapon probably saw her body as something they owned. They'd even replaced her legs below her knees. Tracer had always though those had been boots, but now... “Sorry.”

“...you, I don’t mind.” Irritated that she’d answered without thinking but satisfied that the bandage didn’t need replacing yet, she tucked Lena back under the blanket.

“Did ya get my cards?”

“One each for fifteen different religious holidays, two secular ones, and three I’ve never heard of.” Not since before she’d become an assassin could she remember a time when someone had sent her Christmas cards. Or any cards whatsoever. It had put an uncomfortable warmth in her chest that had taken days for her to get over.

“I was covering all my bases, Amélie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name, innit?”

She shook her head. Talon had killed that woman when they’d reprogrammed her into an assassin. When they’d unleashed her on her husband, and then so many targets since. “Not anymore. It’s not who I am and Amélie is a woman I’ll never be again.”

“Then what do ya want to be called?” Lena’s hand snaked out of the blanket, catching Widowmaker’s wrist as she stood up. As always, how _cold_ her skin was shocked her.

Looking back at Lena’s earnest expression, she searched for an answer. Eventually, she tilted her head, that warmth that Lena was so good at bringing out making her chest ache. “No one has ever asked me what I wanted before.”

“Tell me, when ya figure it out.” Lena let go of Widowmaker’s wrist, then trailed her fingers along the tattoo on her forearm. _Cauchemar_. French for nightmare. “What’s the opposite of a nightmare, luv?”

“Rêverie,” Widowmaker whispered, her eyes locked on Lena’s fingers. The skin contact left a buzzing sensation along the ink, and she found she couldn’t move her arm away.

“Dream….” Lena replied. Her eyes were on Widowmaker’s face. “Maybe something with spiders, then?”

Widowmaker snorted. “I am no dream.” She finally let her hand fall back to her side. “Sleep. We shouldn’t stay here for long.”

“I know people who can help.” Lena pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the pain. “People I trust.”

“And what will they do to me, once you’re safe?” She shook her head. Talon would see her dead, and what remained of Overwatch would see her spend the rest of her extended life in a cell. The organization had fallen years ago, but that didn’t mean there weren’t heros like Lena to pick up the slack.

“Ya could have left me at hospital,” Lena pointed out. She laid back down and closed her eyes. The effort to sit up had exhausted her. “Or a morgue. Honestly, luv, a non-lethal shot to the chest? You’re getting rusty.”

Unable to answer why she’d brought Lena to a safe house instead of leaving her with her compatriots, Widowmaker focused on the insult to her skills. “I missed on purpose.”

“Is it cuz you’re sweet on me?” She flashed a tired grin at her savior. “I took a bullet for ya. I’d do it again.”

“No dying.”

Lena laughed, a painful experience that left her wheezing. Widowmaker leaned over her, holding her down to not aggravate her wound. Lena bit back a suggestive comment, and asked instead, “Where are ya gonna sleep?”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Bollocks. Just scoot me over, there’s room.”

“Will it help you sleep?”

“Probably?”

Widowmaker sighed heavily, knowing that ‘sighing heavily’ was going to be a very frequent reaction to Lena’s antics. But she pulled the covers down, slipped in next to the other woman after carefully pushing her over, and pulled the covers back up. Lena stiffened next to her as she rolled onto her side to face her. “What?”

“Don’t you have jammies or sommat?!” Lena wasn’t wearing much more than a threadbare shirt that Widowmaker had found for her and she was very aware of her frienemy’s closeness.

Lena’s distress drew a rare smile to Widowmaker’s lips. “I always sleep nude.”

“Mother of.......this innit _fair_.” Lena whined, noting that the more they talked the more Widowmaker’s French background started to slip into her accent, which only made that sentence more unfair.

Smiling felt strange. Like her muscles didn’t remember how to do it. She remembered something else from the before times as well. Before Talon and Widowmaker. Something Amélie had liked doing. She wasn’t Amélie, and she didn’t like the name ( _Rêverie_ rang in her head), but she slid her arm across Lena’s stomach regardless, and leaned her face against her shoulder.

Lena went very still. Only moving her eyes, she tried to see Widowmaker’s face. Her expression seemed neutral, but her posture was almost vulnerable.

“I understand that you are attracted to me,” Widowmaker stated flatly. Her tone softened when she continued. “But not why you act the way you do with me.”

“When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.” Lena’s voice was strained and tired. Her skin burned everywhere that it touched Widowmaker’s. The icy blue skin should have cooled her down, but it only made her burn up more.

“...You’re very warm.” 

She could feel her slide closer. “I didn’t know you liked that.”

There was an initial silence, before Widowmaker snuggled in and whispered, “I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue was a little short and I felt guilty, so have chapter 1 a few days early!


	3. The Way Out

Lena woke to an empty bed. She looked around. Widowmaker was sitting in a chair by a window, wearing a thin robe that let sunlight shine through it. She had a mug in her hands, and didn’t look over when Lena sat up. Her bandage had been changed, and she felt a lot better than she had the day before.

“Your wound heals faster than it should. It’s probably your powers.” She didn’t look at Lena, her concentration on something out the window.

“As good an explanation as any. Could be accelerating the healing. Could just be accelerating me.” That was an unpleasant thought with implications of turning eighty before she was forty, so she pushed it out of her mind. Something to ask Winston about later.

“It’s fortunate, it means we can leave tonight.” 

Lena swung her legs off of the bed, looking down at herself as she sat there. “...did ya wash me?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at Widowmaker from under her bangs. “Wake me up next time.”

“It would be less efficient if you’re enjoying it.”

If Lena didn’t know better, she could have sworn the woman was _teasing_ her. “Don’t you mean that would be less efficient if _you're_ enjoying it?”

Widowmaker jerked to her feet, tightening the robe around her body. “Do you need help to the toilet?”

“I got this,” Lena replied, holding up a hand. At least she was pretty sure she got it. She maybe didn’t know _how_ she got it but eventually she made it to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Utilizing what she was mentally calling her Tracer Sigh, Widowmaker turned on a small display in one corner of the room. It was the most advanced piece of tech there, not counting Lena’s harness. She’d ditched her Talon provided rifle and most of her gear out of fear of being tracked. She would have tossed away the harness if it wasn’t the only thing keeping Lena in the here and now.

Now, like earlier, the news was mum on what had happened the day before. No one crowing about Reaper’s downfall, no talk of hunts for either her or Tracer. She turned it off again, then tossed her robe over a chair.

The tiny little closet next to the bathroom held a few pieces of clothing that she’d once squirreled away on a just in case. Two, maybe three wipes ago. Every time like a sand blaster in her mind, but try as Talon might, they could only erase so much. Hints. Fragments of memories left behind. A face, a smile, a choice made.

Leaning on the table, she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of deja vu swept over her. She was too distracted to hear Lena open the door, and didn’t know she was there until she felt the odd warmth of the harness against her back. The arms that wrapped around her waist. The lips that traced fire against the tattoo on her back.

“How many times have we done this?” Widowmaker’s voice wavered, a sudden weight heavy on her mind.

“What?”

Tears burned their way down her face as she turned in Lena’s arms. “ _This._ You get too close. I let you in. They find us. They tear my mind apart and then it all starts over again.”

A lot of things suddenly made a lot of sense to Lena. She brought a wary hand to Widowmaker’s face, brushing at her cheeks with her fingers. “I’ve gotten through to ya a couple of times. And then it’s like it all resets and I have to start over. But you’ve never gone this far. Never gone rogue before. This is new, innit?”

“I think I set this place up, last time, or the time before.”

Lena looked around. It was a far cry from the gigantic penthouse she knew Widowmaker officially had. “A little place to escape to. Ya gave yourself an out.” She wondered how many times Widowmaker had gone through this. How she’d left hints for herself. She’d been fighting back all along.

“Why me? Why do you care?”

Attention back on Widowmaker, Lena shrugged a shoulder. She realized the only reason she was still standing was because Widowmaker was holding her up. “Ya don’t always get to control your feelings. But I’d want to help ya even without them.”

She picked Lena up and carried her back to the bed. “I have something you can wear. I need to apply something to disguise my skin.”

“I _could_ help with that. If you want me to.”

“You’re so persistent.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Unable to trust her voice, Widowmaker shook her head. Lena made her feel things, and she hadn’t felt things in so long that there was a rift in her heart where feeling should be. Shattered memories told her that Lena had made her feel things before. One time, she thought. The first time, she’d been so shaken that she’d volunteered to be wiped.

Not this time, she resolved. Not this time.


	4. Cargo

In all the years that it had taken Lena to get under Widowmaker’s skin, she’d never expected to see her _melt_ so quickly. She’d even started to crack a smile twice in one day!

She looked pretty good with her ‘natural’ skin color applied in the form of makeup, too. The contacts that she wore to make her eyes a more normal shade of green went well with her complexion and dark wig. Except for the eye and hair color, she looked almost like the photos of Amélie Lacroix she’d seen in Widowmaker’s files, though it was pretty obvious Talon had done some facial reconstruction. Lena liked the look, even if Widowmaker still hated the name.

Widowmaker’s Cairo safehouse only kept them safe a few more hours before they felt like they had no choice but to move. Lena insisted that she felt well enough for it. It was mostly bravado, but sitting in one place made her nervous. To Lena’s secret and eternal delight, Widowmaker wore a long, black dress. It was relatively modestly cut but it was still a _dress_. Both women wore head scarves to blend in, and Lena mused on cutting her hair once they had a chance to breath. Her rakish look was familiar to a lot of people and she needed to do something to throw casual observers off. But it had to be _stylish._. Something sharp. Anything less wouldn’t do.

Getting out of Cairo was complicated. The clothing she wore hid her harness, but Widowmaker still stuck Lena under blankets inside a truck, and she spent the next several hours bumping around, completely blind to the world. There were several stops, but nothing very long and Widowmaker hadn’t come to let her out before they started moving again. 

She only guessed where they were going when she could smell salt water. The blankets were suddenly lifted up, and she looked up into Widowmaker’s eyes. She’d pulled the hair covering off, leaving her hair down. It framed her face in a way that made it hard for Lena to breathe. “Oh nice...that’ll do...”

Lips twitching ever so slightly, Widowmaker helped Lena out of the truck. “We will remain below decks until we reach Greece. I have a safe house in Agrinio where we can stay for a few days and plot our next course of action.”

Lena could have suggested several people in Athens who could have helped them. Helped _her_ anyway since Widowmaker was shoot on sight with all of them. She’d spent the whole ride trying to decide if they should part ways here, but she hadn’t wanted to leave Widowmaker on her own. She was starting to be human again and Lena _had_ to help her and she figured the assassin had probably said more words in the past day and a half than she had in the previous three weeks. “Lead on, luv. I’m the one at your mercy.”

“You _would_ think that.” Turning sharply on her heels, Widowmaker stalked up the gangplank, leaving Lena to fend for herself. 

The hold they stowed away in was actually less cramped than the safe house had been. Much more damp, which aggravated Lena’s wound, but less cramped. She sagged against her unlikely ally, leaning her head on Widowmaker’s shoulder and wondering how she wasn’t as exhausted as she should be. Almost imperceptibly, she felt Widowmaker press closer. 

“I can’t keep calling ya Widowmaker, people will freak out,” Lena suddenly pointed out. “And ya don’t want to be called Amélie. So I’m just going to call ya ‘W’ until ya figure shite out.”

Widowmaker mumbled something.

“Wut?”

Lena looked at her, then smiled to herself. Widowmaker had given in to the exhaustion she’d stubbornly insisted she hadn’t been feeling. “Tell me tomorrow, luv.”

Rough seas and a not entirely direct route meant that they were stuck on the ship for nearly two days. There wasn’t much to do except stare at each other. Widowmaker studied Lena’s face. She had memorized it long ago, yet the circumstances were different now. She wasn’t looking at an enemy, but an ally. She looked at Lena differently, and realized that she hadn’t looked at her as an enemy in a long time. She knew a dozen ways to end Lena’s life, but her fingers itched to simply _touch_ her face. “When we get to Athens, what will you do?”

Widowmaker’s question startled Lena. She lifted her head, looking across at her. “Follow ya,I guess.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Her finger trailed across Lena’s knuckles, her eyes focusing on her hand and not her face. “You would be a valuable hostage, but you are not my prisoner.”

Lena’s breath hitched. “Couldn’t forgive myself if sommat happened to ya an’ I wasn’t there to help.”

“You’re barely in condition to walk, let alone fight.” Widowmaker’s finger moved to Lena’s wrist, stroking lightly at the vein just below her palm.

Lena’s wound burned, and she was quickly becoming out of breath. She watched Widowmaker’s fingers with heavy eyelids. “Pretty sure I can shoot straight.”

She moved her hand, caressing Widowmaker’s fingers with her own. Then she rubbed her thumb at the same spot on Widowmaker’s wrist that the assassin had been vexing her with just moments before. This time it was Widowmaker’s eyelids that sagged and her breath that caught. “Feels nice, don’t it?”

Widowmaker could only nod, a feeling not unlike an electric charge crackling along her skin.

“Want me to stop, luv?”

“No.”

“Mm.” A smirk spread slowly across Lena’s face as she lifted Widowmaker’s wrist to her mouth. She kissed lightly, brushing her lips across the skin before sucking. Widowmaker’s fingers curled against her cheek and a visible shudder ran through her body.

Her reaction _scared_ her. She felt suddenly too hot, a sensation that she just wasn’t used to. Her pulse quickened, still slower than Lena’s but much faster than usual. Scooting away until her back hit the wall of their little hidey hole, Widowmaker cradled her arm against her chest.

“Sorry,” Lena rasped, sucking in her lip but not looking particularly repetent. She’d just found one of Widowmaker’s on switches, though with great power comes great responsibility, or something.

It took a full hour before Widowmaker closed the distance again. She pulled something out of a pack. “I bought cards.”

Lena pushed herself up. “Oh! What’s your poison? What do ya wanna play?”

Widowmaker gazed at her for a long moment, before she smiled and started to deal the cards. 

Two hours, half of Lena’s clothing and an IOU for four-hundred quid later, Lena threw her hand down into her lap and folded her arms. “Bugger this! I can’t read your bloody face!”

“You’re pouting like a child,” Widowmaker noted, tossing her shirt back to her. She tucked the IOU down the front of her dress. _That_ she’d collect on.


	5. Hair Care and Other Things

The Grecian safehouse was not what Lena had expected. She’d expected another cramped little hide-out, a hole in the wall in a run-down neighborhood. But this was a _house_. A small house, with hardly any space to spare between the houses on either side, but a house, with a little yard and a garden. She glanced at Widowmaker with a bemused expression on her face. “Here?”

“Here.” With the right amount of pressure, the old looking lock slid away to reveal a keypad. She stared at it a moment, before trying a code. That code failed, so she tried another one. This time the door clicked, and opened. She moved her head, noting the expression on Lena’s face. “...I have been wiped so many times, that I do not always remember.”

“Finger print? Retinal scan?” Lena clucked her tongue. “I don’t know, an actual key?”

“Finger prints can be wiped. Eyes replaced. Keys can be...misplaced. And anyone searching for me would search the area for a key, anyway.”

“Tape it to the inside of the pressure plate. You’d have to grab it real quick when it slides open, but no one would notice it unless they knew it was there.” Lena closed the door behind them, latching it shut.

“Sometimes I forget how smart you are.”

The inside of the house was almost cozy, looking like something out of old holovids of the twentieth century. The front door opened to a small living room with a small couch and a reading chair. A panel on the wall could open to a modern video display. The kitchen was tiny but most importantly had a coffee maker. Widowmaker moved through it, opening the freezer. She pressed around inside until she opened a false door and pulled out a large bundle of money.

One bedroom, one bath, very tiny shower. Using the wall to keep herself upright, Lena found a linen closet and a pantry stocked with canned goods. She inspected the dates. “Well we won’t starve. Talon doesn’t know about this place? It seems a little….”

“Unlike me?” Widowmaker left the cash on a counter, stepping into the pantry and behind Lena. “Gérard once talked of a having a little vacation home somewhere. Greece, or Italy. Amélie was taken by the idea so much, that she intended to buy a little house. That’s how they caught her.” Widowmaker’s mouth twisted up, something almost like anger coating her voice. “In Italy, looking at _cottages_.”

The dress, the cover up, contacts and makeup. The cottage. She didn’t look like herself. She didn’t look all that much like Amélie either. She didn’t know who she was supposed to be now. She leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms across her stomach. 

She didn’t jump when Lena hugged her. She leaned into the touch. Lena’s lips lingered on her cheek. “Just because Amélie’s dreams were shattered, don’t mean that ya can’t have your own.”

“As long as Widowmaker exists, they will hunt for her, your people and mine. As long as she exists, I can’t _have_ dreams.”

Her words hung in the air around them. Her throat bobbed, and she pulled roughly away from Lena. It nearly knocked the Brit over, but she caught herself with a shelf. Lena watched her stand in the framed doorway of the pantry, shadowed by sunlight. Widowmaker looked down at her shaking hands, then at Lena. “If I’m not Amélie and I’m not Widowmaker...who am I supposed to be?”

“I can’t answer that for ya.” Lena approached Widowmaker as though she were a cornered wolf. When close enough, she took her hands. “But maybe I can help ya find out.”

When Widowmaker nodded stiffly, Lena smiled. “Okay, lets make a shopping list. Seems like a good time for that. We’ll need food. Clothing. I need a haircut. You too.” Her finger stroked a letter on Widowmaker’s arm. “Tattoo removal eventually.”

Clothing and hair care came first. Agrinio was one of the larger cities in Greece and had weathered the financial crisis decades before better than many other cities had. Clad in fashionable black slacks and a long-sleeved white blouse, Widowmaker waited for Lena to finish up at a salon. She’d had her own hair cut to shoulder length, framing her face and bleached white until she could decide on a color. She’d replaced her green contacts with ones that were an icey blue. The first time she’d looked into a mirror with her new haircut, she’d felt an icy terror grip her limbs - but no punishment had come. A small victory, a little rebellion against Talon’s control.

Hyper-attuned to any unusual movement, she was aware the moment that Lena was done and had stepped out towards the counter.

Widowmaker looked at Lena and her throat went dry. Lena had had either side of her head shaved, leaving soft stubble behind. Her bangs had been trimmed, though some still hung across the left side of her face. The top of her hair had been trimmed down as well, but it still seemed to fluff up uncontrollably. Lena held out her arms, "Ta~da! What do you think?"

An uncontrollable and unfamiliar urge to rake her fingers through Lena's hair nearly made Widowmaker jump to her feet. Not until she'd reigned herself in did she actually say anything. "Looks good."

"That it? Just good?"

"There are children present," she explained, finally getting to her feet. She tried to ignore the way Lena's happy expression warmed her insides.

Her insides warmed frequently around Lena. Widowmaker frequently found herself dizzy, unused to a faster heart rate. She wanted to blame withdrawals from the drugs Talon had kept her on to keep her cold and efficient. She knew that was only part of it.

Paying the stylist, Widowmaker fled to the chill outside. It cooled her down. She _needed_ to cool down, but Lena wasn’t really going to let her. She stepped into place next to her, reaching up to bat at Widowmaker’s hair. She slid her fingers down the locks on one side of her head and grinned.

Widowmaker blinked and her hand was in Lena’s hair. She rubbed her fingers through the stubble on the right side of Lena’s head, then raked the fingers of her other hand through the thicker hair on top. Belatedly realizing what she was doing _and in public_ , she put three feet between them and folded her arms across her chest.

She shot a look at Lena and frowned. “You don’t have to look so pleased with yourself.”

Lena threw her head back and laughed. She stepped close, slipping her arm through Widowmaker’s as much to keep herself still standing as for the intimacy it offered. “Come on, now that we look sexy, we gotta get some clothing to go with it. We should probably go easy, spending a lotta quid in one day might draw attention.” She’d never been one for shopping (flight memorabilia didn’t count), but the chance to put Widowmaker in assorted outfits was too good to pass up. And figuring out what _she_ could wear to tease W with? Priceless.


	6. Toaster Pastries

Widowmaker learned three things by the time they finished clothe shopping. Lena was a butt woman, as evidenced by her approving stare every time Widowmaker tried on anything that brought attention to her derriere. She was also surprisingly fashionable, or at least had a good eye for color. The last thing she’d learned was that she had _profoundly_ enjoyed herself. 

It was such a mundane, stupid thing, in her mind. Trying on clothing, enjoying the way Lena smiled at her or the way Lena tried on an actual dress and stuttered under her gaze. It was a dangerous thing, to get used to the mundane. She resolved to remain vigilant.

It was literally only the third time Lena had ever worn a dress. The first time had been an Overwatch event with some high ranking government officials - it had been insanely uncomfortable and had ended up torn, anyway. The second time had been for one of Winston’s birthday - Mercy had insisted she dress up nice and hadn’t approved of any of Lena’s usual formal attire. That dress she’d actually liked, but mostly because it had landed her a date with a pretty little bird.

This third dress was a keeper, she’d decided. The way Widowmaker had looked at her had sealed the deal. And now they had a small selection of clothing that didn’t scream ‘hi she’s an assassin and I’m an adventuring hero trying to rehabilitate her.’

Wearing a new pair of pants and a loose-fitting shirt with the top three buttons dashingly open, Lena latched her arm onto Widowmaker’s again. Her companion was wearing a tight pair of pants that Lena had had a hard time not staring at, and a tight fitting blue blouse. She looked so different. Classy and beautiful and Lena was beginning to apply the ‘love’ word to her thoughts about the woman. Dangerous thoughts.

Widowmaker’s hand went to Lena’s chest, and she buttoned one of the buttons up. “Your harness was showing.”

“I thought I looked dashing,” Lena complained. She looked down to make sure it was properly hidden. “But good catch.”

A familiar hum filled the air, and both women ducked under an awning as a hovercraft flew quickly over head. Too fast to catch the markings, but Lena was pretty sure that didn’t belong to anyone she knew. It could have been nothing, it could have been Talon. Widowmaker’s hand was a vice around her wrist, and she carefully pried the woman’s fingers off. “All right, luv, enough fun for one day. Lets stock up on food for the week and head back to the cottage.”

“I hate running,” Widowmaker whispered. “But they’ll always come for me. And one day they’ll catch me, and they’ll take this away from me.” She gestured around her, a general ‘this’ that she thought Lena would understand.

“I won’t let them,” Lena promised. 

“They’ll kill you.”

“You’re worth it.” She shrunk under Widowmaker’s gaze, unable to take the words back now that she’d said them. But Widowmaker said nothing. She pushed Lena away, brushing past her.

“Lets get this over with.”

The little market was quaint, but it had fresh food. Lena hadn’t had fresh greens in months and was happy to throw a variety into her basket. She didn’t eat terribly, but it was usually really bland and she missed things with actual flavor. Or even things with a kick to them.

With fruits, veggies, some select delicious meats and cookie dough to much on, she searched for and found Widowmaker standing in the breakfast foods aisle, looking completely lost. She shuffled over, at the end of her energy for the day.

“Ya okay, luv?”

Widowmaker looked up at her. “I don’t know know what I’m doing. I wanted to get something to quickly eat, but there are so many and….”

Lena looked around. “Could be worse, this is a pretty small selection.” She picked up two packages of toaster pastries. “I loved these when I was little! We didn’t get much, they’re more popular over the pond, but I liked to sneak them into the cart.”

“There are more artificial ingredients in those so-called pastries than there are in my body,” Widowmaker said, disgust on her face as Lena added them to her basket. 

“They’re quick, they’re tasty, and they’ll give us energy for the day,” she pointed out. “I’ve already got an inkling of an idea for how we’re gonna solve the whole being hunted thing, too. Ya don’t gotta worry much longer.”

“You’re in no condition for combat.” She grabbed Lena by the arm and pulled her close, faces almost touching. Lena leaned into her body. “You shouldn’t even be walking.” She pulled the collar of Lena’s shirt slightly to the side. “We need to change your bandage soon, but it’s not as bad as it should be.”

“I don’t understand it either. It’s not like I’ve got some kind of accelerated healing factor. But I’ve been thinking. That bullet _should_ have killed me. I was still in a chrono field when it hit me. Maybe that slowed it down, maybe that created some kinda ripple in time around the wound. Maybe that’s helping it heal faster.” Not fast enough. It had been an exhausting few hours and Lena was looking forward to laying down. She just wouldn’t tell Widowmaker that.

“Or maybe we’ve only delayed your death.” Widowmaker’s gaze dropped to the floor. She’d carried Lena away, patched her up, dragged her nearly fifteen hundred kilometers across the Mediterranean Sea and she had never stopped to ask herself, not even once, why she was doing it. The thought that, one day, time might catch up to Tracer and a bullet from the past pierce her heart made her anxious. She’d never felt anxious before, and she didn’t like it.

Lena tucked her finger under Widowmaker’s chin. “Chin up, luv. Can’t go worrying over what might be.” Maybe she was on borrowed time. In all rights, even if she wasn’t dead she should have been in intensive care for days, if not longer. “But maybe there’s another explanation. Can I ask ya a question?”

“What?”

“I must have lost a lot of blood. How did ya handle that?”

A guilty expression crossed Widowmaker’s face. “I transfused my own blood. There wasn’t much choice. It slowed your metabolism, too.”

She nodded. “I suspected. Maybe there’s something in your blood that helps you recover quicker, and ya passed it on to me.”

“I like that theory better.”

“Me too,” Lena admitted.


	7. Turning Point

Lena promptly crashed when they got back to the cottage. Unsure how to actually handle food preparation, Widowmaker had put the groceries away and retrieved take-out. Once it was obvious that Lena wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, she’d put the containers away, and carefully lifted the woman into her arms to tuck her into bed. She had never eaten that much in one sitting before. With the changes to her body courtesy of Talon’s reprogramming, she rarely had an appetite.

A shower was wanted, but she’d been warned to avoid washing her hair for a few days after bleaching it. Instead, Widowtracer wet a cloth and carefully washed off a layer of cover up from her face, neck, throat and arms. She removed her contacts and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair looked alien to her, especially against her natural skin. Maybe it was that contrast, but she was different shade of blue. She pinched her skin between two fingers, and watched how quickly color returned to it. It was faster than it should. She didn’t know why. She’d been in the field for months before with no changes to her body chemistry or her slow metabolism. 

Her eyes returned to the mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d prepped her. The last time they’d wiped her, maybe. Pumped her full of chemicals again, repaired damaged programming. Their cold, ruthless killer. Not allowed to feel, not allowed to think.

_Fingers gripping the chair, needled in her arms, liquid burning, burning through her veins_

She wasn’t supposed to remember the wipes, or what they’d done to break her. But she did. Every moment, every second of it rushed back to her. The world spun and she fell to the ground. 

Her scream woke Lena, who stumbled out of bed. She blinked forward on instinct, immediately regretting it as agony tore through her chest. She nearly collapsed into the bathroom, leaning heavily on the doorframe and fighting a wave of nausea as her skin turned clammy, “Shite!”

Widowmaker lay twitching on the tile. Lena carefully lowered herself next to her, “Talk to me! Can ya hear me, Amélie?”

“Don’t call me _that name_ ,” Widowmaker hissed. She dug her nails into Lena’s bare leg, pulling herself up the woman’s body. She ran out of steam by the time her head was shoulder level, so she just rested it on Lena’s shoulder, careful of the wound in her chest.

If she closed her eyes, she was laying on that table ten years ago. Someone was drilling a hole in her head. Someone was whispering in her ear. Her mind like a stained glass window, but someone was hammering. The drill stopped, and she felt as though she was floating. A woman drifted above her, a mirrored image. Lifting a gun, she pulled the trigger. 

Widowmaker’s eyes snapped open. She was in bed, Lena passed out besides her. She had no recollection of how she’d gotten here. Lena must have dragged her. Trying to sit up only made Widowmaker’s head spin. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she pushed the blanket down to try to cool off. It took all her strength, and she sank back into her pillow. The darkness took her unwillingly.

****

-

_“Amélie?” The man’s voice greeted her as she came down the stairs._

_She smiled, leaning down to kiss him soundly. “Good morning, ami.”_

_Gérard rested a dark hand on over hers. “I have something special planned for us tonight, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to skip breakfast.”_

_“You owe me.” She swatted him on the rear as he passed her on the way to the door.”_

_“I’ll see you tonight.” He spun his hat before putting it on his head. “Je t'aime.”_

_“Oui, you will. Je t'aime.”_

****

-

_“Amélie?”_

_She lifted her head from a thick book as Gerard came through the door. He looked tired, but appeared to be in good humor. She swept some of her hair behind her shoulder as she approached him. “How was work? Fighting the good fight?”_

_He found himself momentarily distracted as his wife brushed her fingers up his arm. She was clearly in a mood and, well, their honeymoon luster had yet to wear off. “I was going to save your surprise for after supper, but I think that you must see it now.”_

_Gesturing for her to follow him, Gerard led her to their office and turned the computer on. “Ah, my sweet, I think you will be very pleased.”_

_Something clicked in Amélie’s mind. She bashed the book into the back of her husband’s head. He cried out, his forehead crashing into the keyboard. She grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back, holding his head over the back of the chair and exposing his neck. Fear and confusion reflected in his eyes as she picked a letter opener off of the desk._

_The woman looking down at him was a stranger, her eyes harsh and unforgiving. “Talon sends their regards.”_

_She sliced the letter opener into his aorta, and shoved him off of the chair. As she turned to flee, something on the computer screen caught her eyes. She pressed enter on the keyboard._

_Gerard had been planning another trip to Greece, so that they could look at cottages. Amélie’s fingers froze over the keyboard as she fought with herself about what to do. Eventually, she deleted everything to do with the trip plans or cottages, then removed the data drive from the computer. She stepped over her husband’s body, and didn’t look back._  
****

-

Cold greeted her when she returned to the present. She gasped as the full impact of the cold hit her - she was laying in a tub of ice. Confused, she lashed out, but someone caught her hand. “It’s me. Thank god you’re awake.”

Widowmaker’s green eyes met Tracer’s brown ones, and she immediately relaxed. “Why …. ice?”

“Ya been outta it for three days! Then ya just started to burn up and I didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t very well bring ya to hospital.”

She looked away, shivering, then started to climb out of the tub. She used the effort to hide the tears on her face. “You should have let me burn up.”


	8. Mission of Mercy

Even with the fever broken, Widowmaker was still very weak. Hour by hour her body purged the drugs from her system and her mind push fragmented memories together. Most of them made no sense. They lacked context or had been pushed together with similar but unrelated events. Nothing in her experience with Talon’s programming or the way they’d repurposed her body against her will could explain why this, why now.

Something to do with Lena. With how she looked at her and the all too human feelings that Lena’s smile could dredge up. Another day bedridden, sheets soaked with sweat and her body constantly shaking. She was certain she was going to die.

The fever dreams started a day later. She watched her bullet hit Tracer in the chest, over and over again. She walked down the trajectory of the bullet that killed Reaper, the moment frozen in time. It had just touched his forehead, the skin beginning to break and burn away. Her aim was off, it wasn’t dead center. It wasn’t necessary to be dead center, but she prided herself on doing good work. But this was sloppy. Her hit on Tracer was sloppy. Her hit on Reaper was sloppy. 

“So sloppy.” Reaper told her, blood oozing out of the hole in his mask. He stepped around her as she lay on a table, strapped tightly against the cold steel. “They’re going to scratch you out this time. You’ve been on the edge for months now. They’re going to scratch you out, and the best part is, they don’t even have to come to you. You’ll come to them, and they’ll kill you. You don’t go to them, you’re going to die anyway. Lose lose, _Amélie_. Talon made sure of that.”

Whispered voices in the dark. Kill switch. _Kill switch_.

Gasping, Widowmaker shot upright. The room spun and someone shoved a bucket into her hands just in time for her to vomit.

Gradually, as sense returned to her, she realized that it wasn’t just her and Lena in the room. She looked up to spy a blonde woman sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand went for the gun in her pillowcase, only to come up empty.

“Nuh uh,” Lena said. “Already found that one.”

“What… is she doing here.” The venom dripping from her voice would be enough to make most people back away, but Angela Ziegler wasn’t most people.

The doctor better known as Mercy clucked her tongue. “Lena asked me for my help because you were dying.”

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t trust anyone, but I trust _her_.”

Widowmaker set the bucket on the floor. The wild mood swings were getting worse, even if a wild mood swing for Widowmaker was more like the normal range of an average person on any given day. “You trust her.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Her eyes darted from the swiss woman to Lena and back again. “Fine.”

“You don’t want to go anywhere else, ja? Even if I can guarantee your safety?”

Widowmaker looked at Angela with narrowed eyes. “I am not going to be anyone’s science project. But what will I owe you for helping? Is it information you want?”

“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. Leaning back on one hand and crossing her legs, Angela continued. “I am a doctor. My name is Mercy and that is why I’m here. To heal.”

“You can’t heal what’s wrong with me.” Widowmaker wasn’t sure why she was so certain. There were bits and pieces from her dreams that made her feel as though that were the case.

“Do you know what’s wrong with you?” Angela asked, gently placing a hand on Widowmaker’s shin.

The hand made her twitch, and she stared at it. “Kill switch.” The words floated around in the shattered remains of her memory.

“I believe so, too. When Talon modified your body chemistry they must have included some kind of deficiency. Your body is failing, but I have no idea why. Not without running some samples.”

No one expected Widowmaker to suddenly start crying, least of all Widowmaker. But she’d suddenly realized just how much Talon had taken from her. Her mind, her body, her free will. All of it had been stripped from her as though she were a thing. Widowmaker had been little more than a tool for Talon to toss away when they’d used her up. 

The tattoos hadn’t been her choice. The outfit she wore in combat. Her targets. Every time she’d pulled the trigger, Talon had guided the bullet. Talon had programmed her to push people away. Isolated her. Tuned her body to suit their needs and theirs alone. Little rebellions had been quickly rewarded with negative reinforcement, until she stopped remembering who she had been, and stopped trying to learn who she could be.

Widowmaker buried her face in her hands. She felt Lena’s arm around her, and didn’t pull away. She didn’t move closer, but she didn’t pull away. For the first time in years she remembered who Amélie was. For all that she insisted that Amélie had died, a small part of her mind had held onto a faint hope that maybe someday, Amélie could live again. But the resurgence of her memories, as fractured as they were, drove the point home. She’d remembered the sadness in Gerard’s eyes when he’d realized his wife had been taken from him. He’d _grieved_ for her in that moment between realization and death. 

And if Amélie had died to Gerard, than Amélie was truly, irrevocably dead to Widowmaker.

After she’d composed herself, Widowmaker lifted her head. Neither Angela or Lena drew attention to what had just happened, for which she was grateful. She was also grateful that through all of this, Lena had said nothing about her legs, though she was undoubtedly curious. She felt a far cry from the ice-cold killer of a week ago. In place of the steady calm that had been her hallmark was something like a spark. A kindling fire of anger in a dry forest that threatened to become _rage_. A rage focused exclusively on Talon and what they’d done to her. But that emotion was easy to quantify. She could understand it.

The fluttering when she looked at Lena was a little more difficult to place into words.

Angela lifted her eyebrow, but didn’t draw attention to it. When she’d arrived, she’d found Lena gripping Widowmaker’s hand while the former-assassin writhed in feverish agony. Lena had cooled Widowmaker’s brow with a cloth, and looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart ache. What she’d thought was a strange fascination on Tracer’s part had turned into something more. One surprise had been Widowmaker's legs. She'd always suspected they'd been replaced below the knees, but now she had proof. But the real surprise was the almost tender look Widowmaker gave Lena. 

Maybe there was hope, yet.

“I’ve done what I can to stabilize you.” She gave Lena a stern look. “You too. I can’t believe you’re walking around with a chest wound!”

“It got better!”

“I don’t care, you both need to rest while I run tests on Widowmaker’s blood. Though lord knows how I’m going to get away with this with no one noticing.” Winston would ask questions, so his lab was right out.

Lena rolled her eyes. “Yes, mum.”

Angela pointed one long finger at Lena. “I’m serious.” She lowered her hand, then came over to the bed to give Lena a hug. 

She ruffled the Brit’s hair. “If you have to move safe houses, you know where to reach me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Been dealing with some writer's block.


	9. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one. NaNo happened!

Widowmaker had graduated from laying in bed, to being sprawled on the couch. This was better, because at least she felt like she was recovering but there was a downside. If one could call it that.

She had a perfect view of Lena in the kitchen, dancing around to some horribly upbeat song. She was making breakfast while wearing nothing more than a pair of red knickers and a tank top. It was a special kind of torture that Widowmaker had no experience with and no training to resist.

“Try not to pull Mercy’s stitches,” she called out. 

Lena flipped her a V before checking on her veggies and eggs. “I’m being careful, luv.” 

Sighing heavily, Widowmaker sunk down further into the couch, pulling a blanket tighter around her body. The sway of Lena’s hips as she danced was mesmerizing, and her eyes kept focusing on the Union Jack prominently displayed on the back of Lena’s knickers. She didn’t know what to do with what she was feeling and she kept alternating between being too hot and too cold. Lena had set up a fan, but it wasn’t really enough.

Widowmaker finally kicked the blanket off, sweat making her night shirt stick to her body as she pushed herself to her feet. She walked to the fan, tilting it up towards her chest and lifted her shirt up. The cooling effect from the air made her feel instantly better, and she stifled a relieved groan. 

Lena dropped her spatula when she looked back into the living room. She knelt, blindly feeling around for it as she continued to stare at Widowmaker. When she stood again, her head hit the handle of the pan and it nearly fell off the stove. It skittered around the top of the stove as she flailed, trying to avoid both a serious burn and the loss of their breakfast. Lena turned the stove off and set the pan aside, muttering under her breath, “I’m too bloody gay for this.”

“What was that?” Widowmaker asked, turning towards Lena.

Lena swore that she did that on purpose. She spooned food onto a plate, “Nothing. Just talking to myself. Ya need to lay back down.” She came around the counter as Widowmaker dropped her shirt back down. That was a relief. 

Widowmaker took the plate. “It is uncomfortably hot in here.”

Lena felt her forehead. “You’re not warm at all, but your skin innit cold like it used to be. How bizarre. Let me crack a window for you.” 

The open window let in a cold breeze. Widowmaker set her plate on the table next to the couch, and stood in front of the window with her eyes closed. Once she felt cool enough to focus again, she sat. “I thought Mercy gave me something to help.”

“It is helping. Without it you’d be dead.”

Widowmaker looked down at her plate. Her stomach rumbled, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d really had an appetite. Like so much lately, it was a new and unexpected sensation. “They made my body into an organic machine. And partly a real one. I am breaking down…” She started to eat.

“Are ya scared?” Lena sat next to her, watching Widowmaker funnel eggs and veggies into her mouth like a vacuum.

Swallowing, she shook her head, then nodded. “I lived at their beck and call for ten years. I did not fear death. Yet now, I remember. All the things I’ve done. Who I was before. I want to…”

“Ya want to live?”

“I want to see who I am in the future.”

Lena decided that that was pretty much the same thing. She finished breakfast in silence, trying to eat as much as she could before the food got cold. She pulled Widowmaker’s blanket around her shoulders as she started to shiver, but she didn’t say anything about it.

“You can close the window.”

“Are ya sure? I wouldn’t wanna have you get too hot again.”

“I.. am still warm,” Widowtracer admitted. She looked Lena over, then scooted closer, pulling the blanket around them both. Lena’s skin was cold, a reversal that she found to be somewhat amusing. But as she’d hoped, Lena sapped her body heat until their temperatures seemed to equalize. For the first time all morning she didn’t feel like death warmed over. Not with Lena’s head tucked into the crook of her neck.

It was so normal, so _human_ , that Widowmaker felt that rage return. She thought about what she wanted to do. She wanted to kill everyone at Talon, she wanted to set fire to the organization until the only thing that remained were ashes and corpses. 

Her humanity had been stripped from her and here, now, with Lena in her arms she was finally understanding how damaged she’d become. She could snap her neck. Kill her instantly. The thought intruded like it was the most natural thing in the world and the vision of Lena’s head at an unnatural angle sent sharp, stabbing pains through Widowmaker’s chest. 

Getting to her feet, Widowmaker fled into the bathroom, and closed the door. Lena followed her, and knocked. “Are ya okay? Do ya need anything?”

There was no response, and after a few moments, Lena stepped away. The door opened to her back, and Widowmaker grabbed her by her good shoulder and hip. She was spun around and pinned to the wall. Smooth, soft lips met hers, making her head reel. A taut body molded against her own. Widowmaker’s breath mingled with Lena’s.

“Oh..nice,” she breathed. “That’ll do.”

“Do you remember when we talked about names?” Widowmaker’s voice was quiet, and Lena had to strain to hear her past the thunder in her chest.

“Yeah?”

“This is the opposite of a nightmare. A dream I never want to end.” Widowmaker’s hand inched up Lena’s arm, until their fingers tangled together. Kissing Lena again, she pressed her harder into the wall.

Lena wasn’t sure what her own name was right now. Widowmaker was the only thing keeping her upright, and she was pretty sure the wall was the only thing keeping _Widowmaker_ upright. Her voice sounded light to her own ears, “What’s your name, then?”

“You’ll laugh.” Her lips brushed Lena’s as she whispered.

“I won’t. Promise.”

“Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

Lena tangled the fingers of her free hand in Widowmaker’s shoulder-length bleached hair. “No, tell me.”

“ _Rêverie_.”

“That’s a good name,” Lena assured her, twirling Rêverie’s hair around her fingers. “Sounds pretty. Has personal meaning for ya.”

Rêverie sagged against Lena. She laughed, and it felt _good_. Amélie and Widowmaker, laid to rest. She could die tomorrow, and it would be a happier time than any she’d lived the past decade. “Do you think we’ll wake up, and everything will be a nightmare again?”

“We’re definitely not dreaming.”

“Why do you think that?”

“We’re both still wearing clothing and you’re not sitting on my-” Rêverie didn’t let Lena finish that sentence.


	10. Release

For the first time since she’d killed Reaper, Reverie wasn’t thinking of revenge against Talon. She wasn’t thinking about what they would do or how they would escape the situation they found themselves in. If she was honest with herself she’d never really had a plan to begin with. Everything since she’d saved Lena had been her making it up as she went. But she had a future now, and that was something that couldn’t be discounted.

And despite her injuries and sickness, she had Lena, the question was _what was she going to do with her?_ Lena was looking at her curiously, suggestion in her eyes. The way that the woman could set fire to her blood was maddening and yet Reverie welcomed it. Their lips met again, Reverie kissing Lena more insistently, her fingers inching under Lena’s tank top and stroking across the skin of her stomach.

“Ya can’t break me, luv,” Lena breathed. She tilted her head back as Reverie kissed along her neck and throat. If she wasn’t propped up against the wall she probably would have slid to the ground, she was so weak-kneed. “Ya’ve got me at your mercy.”

Pulling her head back, Reverie studied her face, a wanton expression on her own. It took Lena’s breath away and her throat bobbed. “What do ya want, Reverie?”

“You.” Her voice was thick and raspy. She remembered, suddenly, flesh warm under her hands and heavy breaths in her ears and a comforting presence beneath her and the music she’d created with her husband. Lena wasn’t Gerard and Reverie wasn’t Amelie but that didn’t matter. 

They could make a song of their very own. 

Lena’s shirt tore as Reverie pulled it off of her. The harness’s glow lit up her face, and she stared at it for a moment, before lifting her hand to touch the cold metal around the core. 

“Can’t exactly take that part off.” Lena tugged at Reverie’s night shirt until the woman got the hint and lifted her hands. She freed the woman of the offending fabric and gazed adoringly at her. They were both so messed up right now but she was no longer thinking with her head but with her heart and her body and she decided getting chewed out by Angela would be worth it. “Can I touch you?”

Reverie nodded, her focus on Lena’s body. Her hand moved from the cold harness to Lena’s warm skin and she traced a path around Lena’s left breast. “We’re both products of something out of our control. But as long as I have known you, you’ve tried to let me have control of myself. Even when Widowmaker was trying to kill you.”

She looked up at Lena’s face as the British woman’s hands ran down her chest. “She’s still here. In my head. What if-”

“Mm there’s no use in thinking about what ifs.” Reverie’s skin was still colder than most people, but much warmer than it had been a few days ago. She reveled in the feel of it under her palms and in the way Reverie’s eyes drifted closed as Lena caressed her torso. 

She was going to burn up again but this time the only relief she could feel was Lena’s hands. Lena seemed to know what she was doing but she wasn’t touching Reverie where she wanted to be touched most. Groaning in frustration, she grabbed Lena’s wrist and pushed her hand against a breast. It only made the heat worse and she couldn’t english so she fell back into her native French. “Here!”

Laughing, Lena palmed the breast and couldn’t keep the cheeky grin off of her face. Reverie leaned into the touch like a woman starved and Lena gently rubbed her thumb over her nipple. She kept doing so, changing up the speed and pressure as she watched Reverie’s face. She might be the one pinned to the wall, but Reverie was the one enthralled.

“Hey beautiful, I think we might want to sit down or sommat.”

Reverie stepped away from the wall. She took Lena’s hand and led her slowly to the bedroom. Lena followed eagerly, if a little gingerly on account of her stitches. She was surprised when Reverie pushed her onto the bed and crawled on top of her. She was delighted when Reverie’s lips pressed into her pulse point and long fingers teased her breasts.

Lena rubbed her hands along Reverie’s shoulders and then slid down her back as she lightly dug her fingers into Reverie’s muscles. She felt a sudden puff of air against her neck before Reverie lifted her head and then sat up straight. Lena took advantage of the more comfortable position for her arms and palmed her breasts. Moving her hands down to Reverie’s stomach then her thighs, she looked up at her, her breath ragged. She wanted to worship every bit of her. “Let me lead?”

Letting Lena lead would mean relinquishing control of the situation, something Reverie was reluctant to do. Amelie had almost always led in the bedroom. Widowmaker would never _trust_ someone else enough. But she could trust Lena. She leaned down, catching Lena’s lips and then rolling off of her and onto her side.

It was a little painful to sit up again, but Lena pushed the pain aside as she nudged Reverie onto her back. “Relax, luv. Lay back and let me do all the work.”

She watched as Reverie closed her eyes, then smiled and stroked her cheek. Lena started with her hands, trailing light fingers along Reverie’s collarbone and across her throat. She wanted to take her time, drinking the sight and feel of her, and taste her. Now that she finally had her, she didn’t entirely know where to start. “Tell me to stop if you need me to.”

Reverie nodded, but she was too focused on the trail of warmth that followed Lena’s fingers. It was hard to breathe steadily. A hand traced the pattern of the tattoo on her arm, another stroked width-wise across her wrist. Lips brushed her shoulder, teeth nipped at her neck. She quickly lost track of anything else as Lena nibbled and licked and kissed and teased.

Laughter bubbled up inside Lena as Reverie arched underneath her. She closed her lips around her right nipple and Reverie’s hand tangled in her hair and held her there demandingly. A plaintive _whine_ reached her ears and she could feel Reverie tensing and untensing beneath her. Whenever her fingers traced patterns in her stomach, Reverie’s gasps would get higher pitched and her nails would dig into Lena’s scalp.

“Everything still okay?” Lena chuckled, shifting down and nuzzling her nose against Reverie’s belly button.

“It burns,” she rasped, before she laughed. It was a deep laugh, with a slightly hysterical edge to it as though she weren’t used to feeling like this. Or at all. It felt like sensory overload for her, hot tears streaking her face and her body aching for Lena’s touch. She looked down at Lena, eyes half-opened. Lena wasn’t Gerard but she woke the same feelings her chest that Gerard had for Amelie.

Lena stared back, stroking the tendon from Reverie’s thigh to her pelvis and then running two fingers in a slow circle. A low, guttural groan rumbled out of Reverie’s mouth as her head fell back onto the pillow. There was just too much she wanted to do to and with Reverie and she only hoped they’d have a lot of time together to really explore it.

Reverie tugged lightly on Lena’s hair, then tugged again a little more urgently. A huge grin spread across Lena’s face. “Okay, okay I get it.”

With a little oof she pulled those long legs up over her shoulders. They weren't metal, though they were still cool against Lena's back. She didn't really mind, and Reverie’s fingers in her hair were getting more and more insistent. Well then, Lena thought. That’ll do.


	11. Peace Interrupted

Peace was something that Rêverie was unfamiliar with. When she was Widowmaker, she had felt little. Oh, there’d been more emotion than she cared to admit but typically that had been after a kill or during a fight, the few times adrenaline reminded her she was alive. She’d usually just been calm. She’d existed. But never had she felt at _peace_.

Lena’s face was cushioned on her chest, and Rêverie idly ran her fingers up and down the woman’s back, a light hum in her throat. Lena’s accelerator dug into her skin, the metal cold but the core warm. Rêverie thought of herself - her frame cold like that metal, but her core warming day by day. What was this woman doing to her, that she was connecting with a gadget created by a gorilla. Reverie sneered at the thought.

It had been embarrassing, almost, letting Tracer take the lead like that. But she’d needed it. Their dynamics kept shifting and she didn’t know where they would ultimately end up. What was almost frightening was that she looked forward to it. It was so unpredictable, and like Lena it was maddening. She squeezed her arm around Lena and held her tighter. Her programming made her muscles tighten. Whatever else had happened, it hadn’t been purged. Her mind was still in pieces and Lena remained in danger. She could just twist and...

The Widowmaker might still be inside her but that wasn’t who she was any more. Talon had programmed her to not feel a thing when she’d pulled the trigger. But they could do nothing for the memories. The faces that she remembered, every one. Many were innocents, simply in the way of Talon’s goals. Much like her husband had been. Yet what bothered her more was the shattered state inside her head. She couldn’t imagine what true guilt or regret would feel like. An army of corpses beneath her feet, she wouldn’t be able to _live_ with herself once the guilt started.

Eyes closing, she tried to think of something else rather than ruin the moment she had with Lena. And it had been a moment. Many moments, many little deaths of the kind she hadn’t experienced in years. Not since Gerard. Talon had seen her as a tool, something barely alive, and had dressed her something that pleased them. She’d had no choice in the matter. They’d taken her mind, taken her legs and paraded her around like a thing.

Rêverie frowned, and now that she was thinking about it she couldn’t shake the thoughts. If she was going to tear Talon apart, she’d need attire. Picking something out herself was daunting. “I need a new combat suit.”

“Nnn?” Lena murmured. “Wazzat?” She lifted her head. Even with her new haircut, it stuck up uncontrollably. She looked disheveled and, and… _endearing_.

Something much stronger than _fondness_ gripped Rêverie and she drew Lena into a kiss.

Lena had the _stupidest_ grin on her face, but it really was one of the better good mornings she’d gotten. She sat up, then moved to straddle Rêverie. Reverie hadn’t yet decided on a new hair color so it remained bleached white. Lena absently played with it. “So what's this bout a combat suit?”

“Talon must pay, and I will need new equipment to do it.” Rêverie’s fingers tapped lightly on Lena’s hips.

“Well if that innit the most romantical thing I’ve ever heard,” Lena quipped, folding her arms and giving her lover her mightiest pout. “Do ya think we can think bout this later. After lunch, maybe.” Expression softening, she unfolded her arms and laid them on Rêverie’s shoulders. “Are ya okay, though? Those are kinda dark thoughts to be having first thing in the morning.”

“I told you before we started this,” she said, lifting a hand to Lena’s face. “Widowmaker is still here. She may _always_ be here.” She tapped her own forehead. “Sometimes I still want to strangle you.”

A grin ghosted across Lena’s face. “I’m told that’s a normal, healthy reaction to my presence.”

“Literally. I want to strangle you.”

“Still normal!”

“Foufolle,” Rêverie murmured. She traced her thumb along Lena’s cheek.

Reluctant to break the fond silence, Lena still found herself asking, “Do ya really want to go after Talon?”

“Oui.” Rêverie sat up, scooting so that her back was against the wall, all without moving Lena from her lap. She started to inspect her bandages, fearful they’d done more harm than good last night.

“Well I mean, what if they thought you were dead? You could start over…” Lena’s fingers twitched on Rêverie’s skin and it was a small miracle she was sitting as still as she was.

“And you, would you fake your death too? How long would that last before you were compelled to help someone, or return to Overwatch?”

“Uhm. I s’pose you have a point.”

“I will have no peace as long as Talon exists,” Rêverie insisted, delicately pulling aside Lena’s bandage. And Overwatch would probably want her to answer for her crimes. She couldn’t very well join them, even if she wanted to. Did she want to? It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it.

Taking Rêverie to Overwatch wouldn’t go over well for anyone involved and Lena was starting to have uncomfortable thoughts about what was going to have to happen. She tried not to sound as sad as she felt. “And after Talon is gone, what happens to us?”

Rêverie had always known they couldn’t keep hiding forever. That what they had was a temporary peace. Lena would always go back to Overwatch, to places Rêverie might not be able to follow. “You do what you do best. Help people by being a very annoying little gnat. And I will disappear.”

Lena scowled (always an endearing look on her). “There has to be some kind of middle ground. What if ya get some kinda pardon? None of this was your _fault_. Not even…”

“Mondatta?”

Jaw tense, Lena nodded. She didn’t like to think about that, or any of the other people Widowmaker had killed. But right now she was confronted by it, and grief edged into her voice. “Talon controlled ya. They broke your mind, made you into a tool to kill people with. We don’t blame the gun for killing someone, we blame the person who pulled the trigger and the people that enabled them to do so!”

“There are many people and governments who will not see it the same way.” Rêverie murmured, before she furrowed her brow. She’d pulled the bandage aside but there was no wound. She ran her fingers over intact skin. “Merde…”

“What?” Lena looked down at her chest. Where before there’d been a wound just above the accelerator, it was now gone. “Well that’s something, innit? Guess I really do got more of ya in me than we thought!”

Always with the quips. Rêverie’s mind raced. Even with her enhancements and what Talon had done to her blood, she’d never heal a wound like that so completely this fast. It would take weeks to disappear. Months. Even someone like Mercy couldn’t do it. It had to have something to do with Lena’s time displacement.

It was a good thing, it really had to be. She wasn’t going to disappear on Rêverie before Rêverie had a chance to disappear on her. She wouldn’t allow it.

“It’s okay,” Lena grinned. “It means we don’t have to-”

Rêverie cut her off, kissing her roughly as she pushed Lena onto her back. She’d tried to tell herself it was just attraction. Lust. Maybe even just a burgeoning friendship. But as she settled into a new identity for herself it was distressingly clear that her feelings for Lena went beyond all of that.

Someone clearing their throat sent both woman tumbling out of bed. Lena was on her feet in an instant, wielding a lamp and Rêverie had produced a pistol from some place and Lena wasn’t sure she wanted to know where.

Dr. Zeigler held up her hands, eyes averted and face an amusing shade of red. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t expecting you to two be…” She waved her hands. “ _Intimate_.”

“Ya could try _knocking!_.” Lena wrapped a sheet around herself. She noted that Rêverie lowered her gun but seemed to care less about her modesty. “Or ring ahead first. Do ya have the results?”

“You don’t have a working line. And ja, I do,” Angela reminded her. She frowned, then lifted her hand and dropped it like she had planned to do something. “Let me see. Lena, your wound.” 

Lena shrugged and walked over, lowering her sheet.

Angela’s eyes widened. “Gottfried Stutz!”

“Pardon?” Rêverie asked.

“This should be impossible. How long?” Angela asked, looking between them. They made the strangest pair and she wasn’t used to what they’d done to their hair.

“It was there last night.” Lena edged away so she could retrieve her clothing. “Seems like a miracle, innit?”

Worry crossed Angela’s features for just the briefest of instances, before she beamed a smile at Lena. “It might be. Do you think I could take a sample?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “Sure! Why not, Carmilla.”

“And while you are doing that, could you tell us what you found out from my samples.”

“Of course.” Angela nodded at them, and started to back out of the room. “I’ll be...in there...Why don’t you two…” And her hands flailed once more. “Get decent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I'm still alive! There were a few minor tweaks made to previous chapters to keep continuity on Reverie's legs.


	12. Araignée

The little cottage of Widowmaker’s was fascinating. It didn’t seem like something that suited the woman, but Angela could see little signs of Amelie Lacroix in the architecture and the patterns in the walls. She brushed her fingers along the windowsill, her mind almost fifteen years in the past.

She could have reported Lena. She really _should_ have, if she wanted to be honest with herself. Lena was harboring a wanted criminal. But Angela had seen the look in Lena’s eyes as she’d worked on Widowmaker, and she had decided to trust her. Lena, more than Widowmaker. The question in her mind remained; if the Widowmaker was really gone, then who had taken her place?

When she’d left here last, she’d spent the flight back wrestling with herself and her emotions. The only recognition on Widowmaker’s face and in her voice had been disdain. It really shouldn’t have hurt as much as it had but she had kept that to herself. There were more important things to talk bout and what she had to tell them weighed on her. It wasn’t all bad news, but it would be difficult at best.

Hearing movement, she glanced up. Widowmaker had changed into a stylish blouse and white slacks. Amelie had always been a stylish dresser. Angela’s smile faltered, slightly. “Wido..Amelie-”

Rêverie held up her hand. “Both of them are dead. My name is Rêverie.”

“Rêverie, then.” 

“Did you know her before Talon?” Rêverie asked. Bits and pieces floated to the surface, but nothing she could really latch on to. Her memories from before she’d murdered Gérard remained fleeting at best.

“Ja. We were friends.”

“I am… sorry for your loss.” Rêverie frowned, rubbing her right hand up her arm. She looked so vulnerable that Angela had to resist the urge to hug her, though maybe it was her that was the one that needed a hug now. It had been so hard to grieve when a killer wore your friend’s face.

_”I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.” Angela folded her arms over her chest, her eyes darting over her friend in a desperate attempt to not stare. Compared to her modest gold one-piece, her friend’s blue swimsuit was a little more daring. And distractingly sparkly._

_Amelie Renaud laughed, reaching out to tug Angela’s arms free and giving her an appreciative once over. “You have earned this. In a week you will start your residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in your country. You will go on to great things, I just know it. So one last weekend before you work yourself to death and I never see you again is fair, oui?” She gestured with her hand, towards the ocean. “We are at the Riviera. Enjoy yourself!”_

_Disentangled from Amelie, Angela watched her, worrying at her lip before jogging after her. “You remembered to pack sunscreen, did you not?” Skin care was important._

_Amelie turned around, winking as she jogged backwards. “We will need to help each other with it, l’ange”_

_Angela stumbled and very nearly fell over._

_“Gracieux,” Amelie murmured, catching Angela by the elbow._

_“I am a doctor, not a ballerina.” She brushed some hair out of her face and hoped the water was cold._

“You had such a beautiful laugh.”

“Pardon?”

Angela shook her head, “Nothing.”

Before Rêverie could press her, Lena stepped out of the bedroom. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing,” Angela repeated. “Please, have a seat, both of you.”

“It’s bad news, innit.” Lena found Rêverie’s hand, staring hard at Mercy. The glow from her harness made the expression on her face stand out in sharp relief.

“I would rather stand,” Rêverie said. She couldn’t read Angela’s expression, though earlier the doctor had appeared wistful.

“Am…” Angela corrected herself. “Rêverie. I discovered some unique, and quite frankly distressing properties in your blood.” She placed a small round device on the table. A holographic display appeared between them. Angela zoomed in on a small tentacled robot. She sounded angry. “Talon stole and reverse engineered my technology. Normally, they flush out of one’s system once they’re served their purpose, but Talon changed them so that some stay behind.”

The display flashed a menacing red, and switched to a representation of Rêverie’s body. She narrowed her eyes. “I assume this is the kill switch?”

“Ja. Without regular … upkeep, the nanites left behind start to attack you. Like a particularly overzealous immune system. And then your natural antibodies begin to fight back. I believe there is some thing they code into the nanites that change them from healing you to killing you.” She switched the display off. “There’s a war inside your body, Rêverie. And I am not sure you are winning it.”

“Ya can do something, right?” Lena looked between them. She respected Angela. She was the smartest woman she knew, right up there with Winston. A part of her wondered if she had a kill switch in her too, or if it was coded only to Rêverie’s genetics. “I mean, they’re your design aren’t they, maybe ya can shut them down.”

Her body was trying to kill her. Just like the war that raged in her head, one was being fought inside her body. It was almost too much for Rêverie, and she started to laugh.

“What’s so funny, luv?” Lena had an uncertain look on her face. “Rêverie?”

“I am sorry,” Rêverie wiped at her eyes. “It is just…” There was a flash outside the window. Rêverie surged forward, shoving Angela aside. A bullet tore through the space where Angela had been standing. She glanced at Lena as she ducked out of the way of the window. There was no blood. No one was harmed. Not yet.

“How did they bloody find us?” 

Angela ripped her gaze from the hole in the wall. “I don’t know. I was very careful not to draw any attention.” She rested two fingers on her wrist, trying to assure herself she was still alive. Her voice sounded unsteady to her ears as she fixed her eyes on Rêverie. “...Danke.”

“Talon has eyes everywhere. If they did not make you, they would have made one of us eventually anyway.” Rêverie crawled towards the bedroom. She had pistols there, and she’d acquired an old bolt action rifle a few days before. It was primitive at best, but it would do.

“Right-o then.” Lena checked the charge on her chronal accelerator. “They’ll have both exits covered.”

Rêverie tossed a pistol to Angela. “We have little time. They will want to eliminate the two of you quickly and take me. Or try to. They will strike fast, and hard. If we are lucky Talon has only sent their soldiers.”

Lena gave Rêverie a look. “It’s _us_ , pet, they’re not _that_ daft.”

“..what did you just call me?”

“Uh.” Lena straightened her back, an anxious look on her face. “It just kinda slipped out I don’t mean nothing by it.”

She studied Lena. Not too long ago she would have mocked Lena mercilessly for that slip up, and part of her couldn’t quite let it go. “ _I_ wouldn’t be the one wearing the collar, _chéri_.” 

“This is rather lovely but I believe we have more pressing concerns.” Angela flipped the safety off as Lena sputtered. She gave the gun a distasteful look. How many times had she found her oath tested? And how much of a hypocrite was she? 

“I’ll shoot to wound,” Lena assured her. She hadn’t quite regained her composure, but she knew Angela well enough to read her.

Rêverie pointedly pulled the bolt of her rifle back, snapping a bullet into the chamber. She popped out from the window, aimed, and fired. The crack of the rifle echoed through the cottage and she experienced a momentary sensation of regret at tainting the cottage like this. “Sniper down.”

“I could call in support,” Angela said. “It would not take long for Winston and the others to arrive.”

“Both Talon and Overwatch are illegal organizations,” Rêverie replied. “The difference is Talon does not care where they go or who they kill.”

Lena frowned. Rêverie wasn’t wrong. Overwatch wasn’t always welcomed, and it continued to bother her. A lot of people needed their help! But their membership hadn’t exactly skyrocketed like she and Winston had hoped, either. “We need a plan, luvs. So I was thinking I could distract ‘em and we meet up at plan b.”

“Plan b?”

Lena nodded, but then three things happened at once. A flashbang crashed through another window and she blinked forward, throwing it back through the window before it could go off. As she did that, the front door burst open and a smoke bomb rolled in. But it was the deep, echoey laughter that gave her pause. 

Something moved through the smoke, and a spray of bullets splintered the wall where Lena had been. She’d rewound behind the attacker, and he whirled, a familiar grey mask looking back at her. Flipping back she blinked around him again. “Ya look really good for a dead man, chuckles.”

“It takes a lot more than that to kill me.” One gun remained pointed at Tracer, and he trained the other on Mercy. “ _Doesn’t_ it, _doctor_? I wonder. Which one of us is really the angel of death?”

Rêverie pointed her rifle at the side of his head. “Forgetting someone, frère?”

Reaper snorted. “Nice haircut. You’ve had your fun. Kill them and we’ll pretend you didn’t shoot me on purpose.”

“Non. I will gladly put you back in the ground for another few weeks.”

He chuckled, the sound quickly turning into an ominous laugh. “ _Araignée._ ”

Sweat beaded on Rêverie’s forehead, and her finger tightened slightly on the trigger. The barrel trembled, sound around her fading into a distant echo. Something screeched in her head, like grinding glass wearing down at the edges. It felt like fingers in her brain, digging in until she wanted to scream. She thought she heard Lena talking, she thought she heard her name. Who was she? For the first time in a decade she’d made a choice purely for herself and it was slipping away. She tried to grasp for it, for the name dying on Lena’s lips, but two other words registered.

_”Kill them._ ”


	13. Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit darker than some others. Blood, torture, mental anguish. That kind of thing.

“Try not to fall asleep. Too much sun is bad for your skin.”

Amélie opened her eyes, turning her head to the woman laying on the beach next to her. “You were very thorough with the sunscreen, I am sure I will be fine.” There were people elsewhere on the beach, but they all seemed to fade into the background as Amélie focused entirely on her friend and the amusing shade of red she was turning.

Angela glanced away and studied a particularly interesting seagull. Amélie noted her distraction, following her gaze, then laid her head back against the back of the beach chair. She let the silence run on too long, trying to find the words she needed to say. But maybe it was best to rip off the bandage and get it over with.

“I know how you feel about me,” Amélie said. She pulled her sunglasses down and looked at Angela again.

“I …I am sorry?” A lump formed in the young doctor’s throat. She’d wanted to avoid this since she’d realized how she felt, and despite the sudden sinking of her heart there was a faint hope.

“You are a lovely woman Angela.”. Ah, to be young again. Without care. Amélie reached into her beach bag, fishing around for something. “But your timing is...I’ve met someone.”

Angela’s face fell, hope extinguished, and she took several breaths. “I… understand. I never wanted you to feel awkward. I wasn’t planning on saying anything.”

“Non, you could never have ruined what we had, l’ange.” Amelia sat up, and pointed a gun at one of her best friends. “But I am still sorry that we will never know. C'est la vie.” She pulled the trigger, Angela’s head snapping to the side as the bullet impacted her skull. The doctor slumped over, and Amelia heard the sound of cracking glass. It was all around her and in her. Her vision flickered, like static in a transmission. She looked at the gun as lines started to appear on both her hand and the weapon, and then she blacked out.

“Why do people have to die?”

Widowmaker’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a boy’s voice. She sat up, trying to regain her bearings. She was laying in a bed of roses, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a spider’s web. Fitting. “Pardon?”

“Why did you kill me?”

She located the speaker. A boy, maybe eight or nine, knelt next to her. There was a perfectly formed hole on his forehead, a little to the left of center. She narrowed her eyes, and replied cooly. “All enemies of Talon must be eliminated.”

“Why?” The boy stared at her with glassy eyes.

“Because that is the way it is.” She heard something in her voice crack. She’d asked once. Her mind twinged briefly at the memory.

“Why?”

“Because,” she snapped. Cold, emotionless. She was the Widowmaker and the only thing she’d let this boy make her feel was _annoyance_. Not anger, not this cold rage building deep inside her frozen heart.

“Why me?”

“You were… I was ordered to.” That static returned. She pulled herself out of the rose bushes, ignoring the pain from thorns and the dark blue cuts they left behind. The lines of the spider-web started to expand, cracks running up the side of the building.

“I’m just a child, why did I deserve to die?”

“Non, this is, this is wrong.” Widowmaker pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to get her bearings. She could hear the cracking now, rumbling in the ground, glass breaking in the buildings around them and that infernal static grew louder. “This is not how this mission went!”

“Wasn’t it?” The boy grabbed her hand. “It felt like forever, when I died. I suffered. Are enemies of Talon supposed to suffer?”

“You were not the target.” When she looked at him it was like looking through a broken window.

“But you killed me anyway.”

She yanked her hand away. “I did not!”

The boy walked closer again, and reached up to touch her face. Glass shattered in her head and she _remembered_. The world fell away beneath her.

“G’morning, luv!”

Rêverie pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose. The words rang in her head like a hangover and she wished that Lena would tone it down two notches. It hurt so much she couldn’t English properly. “Il est un mauvais matin...”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.” Lena draped herself over Rêverie’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss her cheek. 

Her breath was warm, and Rêverie relaxed against her. Reliving twisted versions of past events was tiresome, and while part of her didn’t really care, she had the horrifying realization that part of her actually _did_. And it was all Tracer’s fault. Probably.

Lena’s teeth nipped at her earlobe, distracting her from her thoughts. “I got a few ideas on how we can make it a good morning.”

“You’re in a mood.” She swung her legs off of the bed and tried to regain her bearings. “What happened. Reaper said that word, and…I do not remember…”

Lena’s face came into view, giving her a cheeky, lopsided grin. But Rêverie could only drink in the smile for a moment before her eyes focused on the blood caking the side of Lena’s head. A bird fluttered on the windowsill and when Lena glanced to look at it, Rêverie could see straight through to the wall behind her. Her stomach twisted and she scrambled back, turning to the side of the bed and retching on the ground beside it. 

“What’s wrong!?”

Rêverie felt Lena’s hands on her and she violently pushed her away. “Get away from me!”

Leaning on one knee, Lena looked at her, expression hurt. She looked at Rêverie with wide eyes. “It’s just a flesh wound, innit?”

“Just a…?” Rêverie wiped her mouth with her fingers and looked at Lena again. Her lover had a sheepish smile on her face, and it was grossly contrasted by the wound in her head. She felt sick again and held her hand over her mouth. 

Older memories whirled in the back of her mind. The face of a boy. The sound of a woman sobbing. A man’s lifeless eyes. A baby wailing.

Hand outstretched to ward Lena off, Rêverie stumbled to her feet as face after face floated up from the darkest reaches of her mind. She didn’t know half of their names, or maybe she’d simply forgotten, but the faces of the people she’d murdered were as much as part of her as the artificial legs Talon had so graciously fitted her with. 

And then Gérard, a sad expression on his face, reaching for her with his left hand. A spider rested on his palm, and it bit him. The skin turned necrotic, and he fell back into the abyss. 

_When I was a girl, I had a fear of spiders._. A broken memory, one she’d latched onto to find her new identity. But there’d been more that had been lost to her. She remembered watching one skitter across the ground of her bedroom. Her father caught it with a glass, and showed her how he set it free. “Spiders have an important part in nature,” he’d explained. “They catch other bugs. The scary ones, the ones that carry disease. Without spiders, we’d be buried in flies!”

Voices surrounded her, conversations she’d forgotten, lovers she’d once had, and Gérard, poor sweet brilliant Gérard, she’d loved him so. As much as she was starting to love-

“Rêverie!” 

Lena came into focus, unblemished by blood, face smudged and sweaty. She touched Lena’s nose and murmured. “Dieu merci…”

But Lena flickered, fragments of her chipping away at the edges. Rêverie let out an agonized cry, and grabbed Lena by the shoulders. “I do not know what memories are real any more! They have ripped me up and put me back together a hundred times!”

“The cottage is real.” Lena put her hands on Rêverie’s cheeks. “Hold on to that, luv.”

“Was it real?”

She became aware of straps holding her down. A light in front of her face blinded her, until someone moved it. She was laying on a table, and could feel the barest prick of needles along her arms and at the back of her neck. Three more lights appeared in a halo around the first one. 

Reaper’s grinning visage came into view, his voice mocking her. “Welcome home.”

A woman’s disembodied voice said, “There are five lights.”

“Non, there are four.”

The needles pressed into her skin, and her veins felt like they were on fire. The voice repeated. “ _There are five lights_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [mylordshesacactus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus) for the beta on this!


	14. Four Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: This is one of the darker chapters. Psychological and physical abuse, blood and violence, and attempted suicide.

It was a new technique, and Rêverie could almost feel herself starting to break down as the hours wore on. Sometimes, there’d be the feeling inside her head, like metal scraping on bone, and other times it was grinding glass as they struggled to wear her down. Talon wanted information, before they broke her and reformatted her mind. That much was obvious from the questions they’d asked.

How much had she learned of Overwatch’s organization, the woman asked her, over and over. 

Nothing, she’d reply, and the pain would start again. It wasn’t as though she actually cared about Overwatch, or its members (with the obvious exception that she kept locked away in a box in the farthest reaches of her mind). It was simply the honest truth.

“There are five lights,” the voice reminded her. She squinted. There were four, were there not?

“Don’t listen to that tosser.”

Rêverie turned her head. Lena was standing next to her, hands on her hips. Her undercut was gone, replaced by the mop of a haircut she’d had a few weeks ago. “...Pardon?”

“There’s four lights, and ya know it!” Lena giggled, and leaned against the table that Rêverie was strapped to.

“I’ve lost my mind again.” Rêverie turned her head back, staring at the ceiling, and those damnable lights.

“That’s assuming ya had it from the beginning.”

She didn’t dare smile, but she wanted to. Her eyes moved back to where Lena was supposedly standing. Last time, she’d held onto the thought of Gerard, and they’d turned that against her. This time, she would have to be on her own. Lena started to go out of focus as she tried to her out of her mind.

“Nope.” Lena poked her nose, and Rêverie focused on her again. “You’re stuck with me, whether I’m real or not. We both know I’m comin’ for ya. Talon has to know it too.” She laughed again, that endearing, _annoying_ laugh of her.

“I am not worth it,” Rêverie whispered. Faces floated up from the depths of her memories. Ghosts. For so many years they had meant nothing to her, save the buzz of the moment.

“That don’t sound like ya.” Lena brushed some hair from Rêverie’s face. “Where’s that fighting spirit? Ya just gonna give up? Gonna let Talon use you again and again. They’re gonna strip ya down until there’s nothing left.”

Rêverie scoffed, staring at the lights. Four lights. Not eight. Not five. Four. She could let her eyes go out of focus. It would be easy. It was easy. And even though Lena wasn’t actually here and she may never see her again. Her rival, her lover, she still had a question for her. “And just how well do you really know me, cheri?”

Pain lanced through her body, and she bit her nails into her palms, warm blood pooling beneath her fingers. Voices spoke at the edge of her consciousness, a familiar droning that returned her to a time when she’d been someone else, to a time when they’d made her someone new. That first time, that second and third time and how many times had it been? How many times had Widowmaker been taken apart, memory and feeling and emotion stripped from her until all that remained was the killer, the hunter, a murderer who took great joy in the death of others.

How many times had she and Lena Oxton danced their ballet of violence?

The light flashed in front of her. Four times. Four lights.

“There are five lights,” that voice declared again.

Rêverie had to focus. Had to fight the Widowmaker. She had to fight what remained of Amelie, for that matter. She liked who she was becoming, the new person put together from the fragments of two personalities and the promise of a third.

****

\---

A thousand kilometers away and flying at Mach 6, Lena was gripping the controls of their aircraft tightly, her knuckles white. It was the only outward sign of the tension she felt. Behind the stick, she was a professional. She hadn’t gone this fast in years, but not even Winston could have stopped her from taking the controls. She flicked on the intercom. “Seven minutes to target. Get ready.”

Setting autopilot, she got up, and descended the stairs to her waiting friends. It was just four of them right now. Herself, Winston, Angela and Genji Shimada. They'd been unable to reach Reinhardt or Torbjorn in time and McCree had been incommunicado. Mercy and Genji had tried to contact a few others, but they'd all been too busy fighting their own battles for the time being.

"This feels kinda sad, don't it. There should be more of us."

“Our friends have their own battles,” Genji said. He had been sitting cross legged and motionless, and he stood as he spoke. “I fear they will need help before long.”

Winston pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you sure about this, Lena? This is _Widowmaker_ we’re talking about. You know what she’s done.”

“I’m positive.” Hand on Winston’s arm, Lena continued, “You haven’t seen the change in her. I mean she’s not gonna be Amelie ever again, but what Talon’s done to her, it ain’t right.”

“We have to do something,” Angela spoke up. “We failed her once before. I don’t want to give up, and she’s going to need people in her corner to help her fight for this.”

Winston puffed up his chest, before letting the air deflate from his lungs in a heavy sigh. “I trust you. And maybe we can deal Talon a blow while we’re at.”

“Now you’re talking!”

“Two minutes to target.” Athena’s voice brought them back to the task ahead of them. Lena popped her guns out of her gauntlets for another check. 

“Will this plan work?” Genji asked.

Winston glanced at the holographic display of the Talon base. “It all depends on how accurate our intel is.”

Genji nodded. “I will escort Tracer into the base, before splitting away to draw their attention.”

“Winston and I will take another route in, sowing chaos in our wake,” Angela added. “Reinhardt is going to be put out that he missed this.”

“Take these.” Winston had four wafers, each a centimeter thick and about ten centimeters in length. “If you get a chance, slot them into Talon’s computer systems.” He huffed. “Payback for trying to take our data and nearly killing Athena.”

“One minute. We have preliminary information on Talon air defenses. It is going to be a bumpy ride, Winston.”

“As soon as we’re off, Athena, take the jet out of range of their weapons until we’re ready for extraction.”

“Understood. Be careful.”

“Careful.” Lena gave one of the computer monitors a cocky grin. “Don’t know the meaning of the word!”

Angela grabbed Lena’s shoulder. “We still don’t know what happened with your injury. Please _try_ to not get carried away?”

“Sure thing, Mum.” Tracer backed towards the door.

“Optical camouflage disengaged.” The jet slowed rapidly, heavy guns rotating into position and opening fire on the Talon base. The door dropped open and Lena tossed a salute as she leapt backwards out of it.

It always made Mercy just a little nervous when she pulled stunts like that. It didn’t help that the others were just as prone to feats of recklessness.

“Just like old times.” Genji said, as he leapt after her.

Something like excitement bubbled through Winston’s veins as he charged out after them. He was actually looking forward to this. “As McCree would say, _Yee Haw!_.”

“So much for all that peace and quiet.” Angela sighed, before jumping out as well. She floated down almost peacefully in a stark contrast to the violence around her. The fire from the ground was heavy, flak exploding around them and the transport, missiles blasting in only to divert and chase after flares. The heavier cannonfire faded as the transport shot away.

Angela hit the ground running, firing off a shot at a Talon soldier, his lifeless body hitting the ground seconds later. “I’ve always hated this part.”

****

\---

_Where are you where are you where are you_. The words ran through Lena’s head over and over as she darted through corridor after corridor. The Talon facility was large, and there were numerous dead ends. She had the sense to attach Winston’s device to a computer and mark the corridor so she could find it later, but most of her focus was on finding Rêverie.

She took a step down towards a set of large doors. The sound of a trigger depressing reached her ears and she sped back through time, a bullet passing through where her head had been.

Lena sprinted forward, jumping up high and pointing her guns towards the gunman. She didn’t fire. She landed, skidding and slamming into the wall, too stunned to care.

Rêverie stood at the end of the hallway, holding a rifle. Her eyes looked as though they were sunk into her head, and her skin had become a pallid shade of purple-pink. Blood dribbled down her nose, and a dozen thin needles stuck up from her forehead like a macabre tiara and her hair had been dyed back to navy blue, though it remained shoulder length. She’d been dressed in her standard catsuit, as if Talon were making a point of telling Lena that Widowmaker was theirs.

Lena felt a pain in her chest. She barely got moving in time as Widowmaker sighted her in her scope. It would be easy to give up. Part of her wanted to, so heartbroken at seeing Rêverie like this. After everything, after how much _progress_ she’d made…. 

“No. I’m not gonna give up on ya!”

Firing at Widowmaker’s feet, Lena blinked in, and then out of range again. Widowmaker spun around on one foot like a twisted pirouette, but she wasn’t tracking Lena as well as she could. Her shots remained centimeters behind Tracer, and for Tracer, a centimeter might as well be missing by a meter.  
“Mouche,” Widowmaker whispered. She lowered her rifle, firing her grapple to chase after Tracer. Her head pounded, and it felt as though she were trying to push through a thick soup but the longer they danced macabre the more her muscles remembered the score.

“I know you’re in there!” Lena called out. “Ya pushed so hard, ya can’t give up now! Are ya gonna let them win? I thought you _hated_ them.”

And then, that annoying little giggle. Widowmaker’s eye twitched, and she didn’t give Tracer the courtesy of cursing her out in English.

Lena blinked back into the hallway, and held up her hands. Her guns were visible in her gauntlets, but she was effectively unarmed. “Talk to me, Rêverie. That’s your name, innit? The one ya chose for yourself? You’re not Widowmaker. You’re Rêverie.”

Widowmaker had her gun aimed at Tracer’s throat. Finally. After so long, it could be over. The barrel was trembling. Sweat beaded down the back of her neck and her hands were clammy. 

“I told ya I’d come for ya.” The Lena in her ear wasn’t the one at the end of her rifle. She kept her eyes on the latter, and tried to still the shaking of her rifle. The Lena in her head stepped into her field of vision, and seemed to merge with the other Lena. The real Lena.

Rêverie lowered her gun, tears streaking down her cheeks. Voice wavering, she said, “They told me there were five lights, Lena.”

Lena lowered her hands, keeping them palm up towards Rêverie. She was almost close enough now. Just another meter. “How many lights were there really, luv?”

“They told me there were five lights. They wanted information I did not have, and when they could not get that information they just wanted the Widowmaker back. Five lights, they told me. Five lights. I do not know what else they might have done. What they might make me do to you. Make me do the same as done to Gerard. But I do know one thing!” 

The rifle clattered to the floor. Rêverie drew a sidearm and pointed it at her own head. _There are five lights,_ her memory tried to tell her. Rêverie ground her teeth together and defiant, she spat out. “There are _four fucking lights_!” 

She pulled the trigger. The gun shot rattled through her head and as everything went dim, a blue glow enveloped her.

When she opened her eyes, she lay in Lena’s lap. Blood had splattered Lena’s face and her Chronal Accelerator had been cracked open. It smelled like melted circuits. Rêverie touched her own chin, all traces of the bullet gone.

Lena was shaking, dirty face streaked with tears and a near constant whimper at the back of her throat. She flickered, just slightly, and the edges of her body went blurry before returning to normal.

“Qu'est ce que?” Rêverie lifted a hand to Lena’s damaged harness. Just above it, she could see blood, and the faintest trace of the wound she’d left in Lena on the day all of this had started. Before her eyes, the wound started to open, only to fade away. “What did you do?”

“I couldn’t let..I watched ya...it was so horrible.” Lena hiccuped, her grip on Rêverie tightening. “I wasn’t _fast_ enough so I did the only thing I could think of. I overclocked my Chronal Accelerator.”

_You should have let me die_. Rêverie held her tongue. Part of her was terrified that she would turn on Lena. Part of her was angry that her lover had taken away her choice. And part of her was grateful and deeply touched at the risk that Lena had taken. “ _Never_ do that again.”

“The same goes for _you_.” Lena smiled through her tears, and wiped at some of the blood on her face. She cupped Rêverie’s cheek. “Promise me, you’ll fight it. And talk to Mercy about it? I know I’m not going to be enough and I really shouldn’t be anyway but if ya just kill yourself they’ll win and do ya want Talon to win?” 

“I am afraid for you,” Rêverie whispered. “You have burrowed your way into my heart like a worm and I cannot remove you without dying myself.”

Lena just smiled, and started to carefully remove the needles in Rêverie’s forehead,her sunny disposition back in place. Rêverie let her, and it was more of a relief than pulling that trigger had been. Rêverie sighed. “Let us find your people before you disappear on me.”


	15. Extraction

A heavy explosion rocked the ground beneath Mercy’s feet and she leaned her hand on a wall to steady herself. Smoke billowed out from the remains of some kind of bunker as an enraged Winston burst out of it, far enough away from her position that she could barely hear his roar. She didn’t know how much longer they could really last before Talon realized their force was a lot smaller than they might have originally thought. She was much too far away from everyone for her own comfort.

She touched the comm in her ear. “Genji, Tracer. Winston is keeping them busy but they’re starting to peel off. What is taking you so long? Are either of you hurt?”

At first, no response. She started to try again, but a deep, gravelly voice startled her. “I don’t know about them, Doc. But you’re about to be in for a world of hurt.”

Mercy dove forward, rolling out of the way of Reaper’s shot and swinging her staff in an arc as she came back around. It caused him to step back and she took the opportunity to run for it. “Reaper’s here! Can anyone hear me?” Mercy was answered by static.

She skidded to a stop when Reaper materialized in front of her. The edges of his cloak seemed wispy like black smoke rolling over itself. Even though she couldn’t tell through the mask, she knew he was glaring at her. She pointed her side-arm at him. “Gabriel.”

“We’ve jammed your communications.” Reaper laughed, ignoring the weapon in Mercy’s hand and taking a step forward. “It’s just you and me, and a day I’ve been dreaming of for years.”

Mercy squeezed the trigger, but her shot passed harmlessly through Reaper’s head as he turned into that oh so familiar mist. She tried to run back the way she’d come, his laughter echoing through the hallway. He seemed to be all around her; a black fog and gravelly laughter that threatened to overcome her senses. She had a sudden, terrible fear of him filling her lungs until they burst. The air was so heavy that she wanted to scream, but she was too disciplined to give him that satisfaction.

Something hard slammed into her back and she lost her balance, hitting the metal wall hard enough to be dazed. Reaper grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her face against the steel. 

“This is your fault, _doctor_.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Mercy’s left hand was pinned between her body and the wall, but she still had a grip on her gun. Panic bubbled up from her stomach as Reaper’s grip slid around to her throat and tightened. “I was trying to save your life!”

“Good job.” Reaper squeezed tighter, leaving her no more room to talk. “Love your work, doc. You saved me. Did you stop and think that maybe I didn’t want to be saved? Not if it meant turning into this.” He forced her to turn around, squeezing her throat to keep her still as he removed his mask. Gabriel’s face was ash-like, with a large gap on his right cheek through which she could see his teeth and tongue. There were patches of dead skin, blackened and charred, that dotted his face. His eyes were glazed over and white like a corpse’s. Her throat burned, her voice raw as she forced words out through her constricted throat. “Mein gott..I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck you, and fuck your apology, Angela. You should have let me die with Jack.” His voice cracked on Jack’s name, but Mercy couldn’t focus. If he squeezed much harder she’d suffer permanent damage. If he squeezed much harder than that she was going to die. She couldn’t breathe any more, and Reaper grinned. “That’s it. Your eyes dimming. That light will go out. I might even sleep easy tonight.”

Mercy was rapidly losing the ability to remain calm. But he was taking his time, and that allowed her to get the barrel of her weapon under his chin and pull the trigger.

The blast blew Reaper’s mask off, his head snapping back as he stumbled and fell to the ground. Mercy shot him in the chest twice before falling to one knee and grabbing her throat. Her breathing came quickly and raggedly, but she felt around until she was satisfied that bruising would be the worse of it. Picking herself back up, she approached Reaper’s prone form cautiously. The damage to his face and head was already rapidly healing and from the sounds coming from his throat it didn’t sound painless. 

He stirred and she twitched, shooting him in the chest again. At least she’d have time to get away. “Gabriel, I promise you that I will find a way to reverse what I’ve done to you.”

Mercy backed away, stopping only long enough to pick up her staff - and Reaper’s mask. She had to get back to Winston. Gabriel wouldn’t be down forever and when he got back up he wasn’t going to be happy.  


\---

“The gorilla?” Rêverie asked. “Did I not rate the old lion? At least I rated the Dragon.”

“We couldn’t get ahold of him,” Lena explained, adjusting Rêverie’s arm around her shoulder. “But he’d love to know you called him the old lion.”

Rêverie clicked her tongue. “Just because Widowmaker tried to kill all of you does not mean she had no respect for some of you.” Though every last one of them were annoying in one way or another. Rêverie didn’t know how she felt about some of them now. She could grow fond of Mercy again. The others would take more work.

“She respected me? Really?” Lena peered at Rêverie from beneath a mop of sweaty brown hair. “Why do I think you’re bullshitting me.”

There was still blood on Lena’s face. Rêverie reached over and tried to some some from her cheek. “Oui. She respected you. As much as a spider could respect a gnat.”

Lena swatted at her, but the banter made her smile. “And what does Rêverie think of me?”

“Rêverie thinks-”

“There you are.” Genji’s modulated voice interrupted them. He flicked his sword to the side and then sheathed it. “I’ve lost contact with the others.” The green of his visor seemed to settle on Rêverie. There was no judgement in his voice and his gaze was inscrutable. “Are you capable of fighting?”

Rêverie pushed off of Lena. “Oui.” She stepped over to a body and looted a gun. “Let it not be said I did not participate in my own rescue.”

Genji nodded once. “I will clear the way. Take the east hallway, Athena will be bringing the transport back soon. Do not wait for us.”

“No way! We aren’t leaving without you!” But Lena’s protest was lost on Genji’s back. Scowling, she turned to Rêverie. “Why does everyone want to be the hero?”

“Pot. Kettle.” Rêverie shouldered the gun, and started to limp after Genji. True to his word, the path was clear to the east hallway, but she hoped he’d left them something to play with.

Lena seemed chipper next to her, a far cry from the devastation that been on her face five scant minutes ago. Rêverie couldn’t remember what had happened in the time between pulling the trigger and appearing in Lena’s lap. But from the state of Lena’s harness, she had a few ideas. “Lena.”

“Yes, luv?” Tracer peered around the corner. “What is it?”

“I should be angry with you. I didn’t ask you to stop me.” She stepped past her and started moving down the corridor, rifle lifted to her shoulder as she scanned down the sights.

“Rêverie, I couldn’t...but is this really the best time?”

“I wanted to thank you. If I am dead, how can I make Talon pay?” The hallway opened onto a balcony and Rêverie put two bullets into the heads of two men. She lowered her gun, looking down at the bodies as the barrel smoked. “And I am going to ..what is your expression in English? Pound of flesh. I am going to exact a pound of flesh for every second that Widowmaker existed.”

And a thousand pounds for each of four lights.

“So that’s your motivation, then?” Lena sounded casual, as though her question wasn’t loaded with an airline’s worth of baggage.

“Mostly,” she replied, glancing at Tracer without moving her head. “I needed a..reminder.” 

It was the closest to ‘I love you’ that she was capable of giving for now and Lena could accept that. She nodded back. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Words Amelie had heard once. Words that Rêverie, finally, was willing to believe.

Heavy thunder heralded the arrival of the transport, as it shook under fire. Rêverie tossed the gun aside and looped an arm around Lena’s waist. She launched her grapple towards the hovering plane and Lena grabbed on tight as they suddenly shot forward and up.

“That’s a lot more alarming when someone else is in control,” she said, letting go of Rêverie once they were on board. Something clattered to the deck and she turned to watch Rêverie strip out of the Talon catsuit. 

She spit on it, then kicked it the grapple and her gauntlets out of the plane. “Help me with my legs.” She sat down, and started to apply pressure where the warm metal met her skin, searching for the seams. “Hurry.”

“What are you doing?” Lena knelt in front of her, and tugged on one leg. It was difficult, with how badly the aircraft was shaking under fire. The shields weren’t going to hold on for much longer. They flashed in the corner of her eyes.

“How do you think Talon found us?” Rêverie snapped. She was so foolish. She should have known. They’d been having such a good time there, she could almost have pretended it could have lasted forever. “Of course they would have a way to track their property.”

Lena frowned as one prosthetic was freed. “You’re no one’s property.”

“Non.” Rêverie got her other leg free, then threw her prosthetics out the open door. “But those are.”

Winston climbed on board, Mercy and Genji in toe and Lena ran for the controls. “Mercy! They did a ringer on her!” She’d just have to trust in her friends, and few people were as trustworthy as Angela Ziegler. 

“Lena! What happened to your Chronal Accelerator?”

“No _time_ for that,” Lena replied, shrugging off Winston’s hand as she settled into the controls. An alarming comment from the woman where time was never a problem.

“Athena, give me a scan of Tracer’s Chronal Accelerator.” Winston gently placed his glasses on his nose. “Lena, you fly. I’ll get you stabilized until we can fix it.”

A display lit up to Winston’s right, and his jaw dropped. “That should be impossible. Lena...what did you _do_?”

She shrugged one shoulder, gripping the controls tighter. “I did what I had to.”

The craft shuddered and shook as Mercy started to check on Rêverie. “Genji, help me get her onto the table.” 

“Of course.” Genji took Rêverie gently by the shoulders, lifting her while Mercy took her legs. They set her down on top of the holotable, where threats and mission briefings were usually displayed.

Mercy shined a light in Rêverie’s eyes, gripping the table tightly as the plane picked up speed. “Would you like something for the pain.”

“Non.” Sweat beaded on the back of Rêverie’s neck, her heart speeding up. She turned her head to avoid the light. “ _"S'il vous plaît, éteindre la lumière."_ "

“ _Désolée_ ,” Angela replied, gently touching Rêverie’s cheek as she flicked the light off. “Genji, can you go up front with the others? I need to examine her.” She thought a little privacy might be appreciated, and she knew Genji would understand.

Rêverie set her jaw. “Merci, Mercy.” She waved her hand, as if to give Angela permission to continue. She could feel Lena’s eyes on her somehow, even from the cockpit.


	16. Downtime

She’d been watching the spider for over an hour. It seemed content on its web, and Rêverie couldn’t quite tell what sort it was. Every spider was different. Some were poisonous to humans. Others not. Most were afraid, preferring to lurk and hide away. Rêverie was not that sort of spider.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Lena bounced in, flopping into a chair next to the bed and trying to follow Rêverie’s line of sight. She quirked an eyebrow at the spider.

“Spiders have an important part to play in nature.” Rêverie spoke without averting her gaze. “They catch insects. Dangerous ones, that can carry disease. I remember now. Amelie’s father tried to teach her that when she was a girl. But he neglected an important part of the lesson.”

Lena tilted her head, waiting for Rêverie to continue. Rêverie smiled at her, eyes still on the spider. “Not all flies are dangerous. Some are merely pests. Others...innocent. But the spider, she catches them regardless, because it is in her nature to do so.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“There are always going to be Talons in the world, with their Reapers and their Widowmakers. And I am going to catch them and kill them, and maybe there might be an innocent fly who gets stuck in my web. But it cannot be helped.” There was more she wanted to say, about Overwatch and it’s role in the world. How at times it was not that much different from Talon.

“Sure it can.” Lena took Rêverie’s hand. “You’re different now. Just as deadly but you don’t gotta shoot someone innocent to get at Talon.”

“What if one innocent man dies, so that a bad man dies. And if that bad man dies, a thousand innocents live?” If they got in her way, maybe she would. If they were a hostage, maybe she would. Rêverie wouldn’t know until she was faced with that circumstances. Maybe Lena would have rubbed off on her and the man would live. Or maybe she’d put a bullet through him to take down her target. It would not be the first time. “There is a saying. I read it in another life, but I don’t remember where.”

Rêverie waved her hand dismissing that other life just as easily as if she were swatting at a fly. “It’s the nature of men to create monsters, and the nature of monsters to destroy their makers.” She leveled her gaze at Lena. “And before you object I _am_ a monster, and I _will_ destroy my maker.”

A haunted look crossed Lena’s face, and she crawled into the bed with Rêverie. How many others might go down with Talon? “I trust you, okay? Whatever programming they put in you, you’ve overcome it.” It would be easy to say ‘don't’ shoot the man,’ but what if Rêverie was right? Lena wouldn’t be able to live with herself either way. “And I can’t make you promise me anything, as much as I want to.”

“What exactly do you trust me to do?” Rêverie’s gaze was intense. Lena hadn’t answered her first question, which to her was enough of an answer.

Lena let out a trembling breath. “The right thing.”

“I do not know what the right thing is.”

“You will,” Lena promised. “When the time comes, you’ll do the right thing.” It wasn’t like she was asking Rêverie to go against her nature. She just wanted her to do the right thing. She was almost pleading. And even then she didn’t expect any promises.

“And if that gets me killed? Or you?”

“It’s still the right thing.”

Rêverie sighed, laying back and tugging Lena down with her. “You are so annoying.”

“Yeah, but you love that about me.” Lena caught a fraction of a smile on Rêverie’s lips, and leaned over to kiss them lightly. “You should talk to Angela. About what happened.”

“Pot, kettle,” Rêverie deflected. She brushed a hand through Lena’s hair, noting that the undercut was starting to grow back in. It would need to be fixed, she liked the new style. She placed her other hand over Lena’s chest. “And I am fine. But are you?” 

Lena glanced down, to the glow beneath her shirt. It was smaller than her old one, and the harness that included her combat equipment was lighter. “I’m A-Okay!” 

“Let me see it.” Rêverie started to tug on the shirt, but Lena grabbed her wrist.

“That’s not a good idea.”

That only served to make Rêverie more determined. With more strength than Lena expected, she broke free of Lena’s grip, and pulled Lena’s shirt open. The new Accelerator was smaller than she remembered, and set into Lena’s chest like something out of an old comic book. There were newly designed attachments for the harness and Rêverie assumed that that would be smaller too. Maybe more secure. That was good. Lena’s harness had been heavier than she’d expected when she’d been caring for her. 

She gathered all of that from a cursory glance, before her eyes settled on a bruise in a familiar spot just above Lena’s heart. “Non….”

“It’s okay,” Lena said. She took Rêverie’s hand. “It’s... fine. There was a bit of a problem when I broke the Chronal Accelerator but it fixed itself.”

“A _bit_ of a problem?” Rêverie tried to sound calm. She was the epitome of calmness, there was nothing to be alarmed about and there certainly wasn’t the slightest break in her voice as she asked, “What exactly is a bit of a problem, cheri?”

“I… disengaged the safeties, broke it open so that I could extend the time field to you,” Lena explained. “To take you back to before you pulled the bloody trigger. But it’s okay, it’s really okay. Your bullet only came back for like a second, that’s all. I mean I feel it now and again when I reverse time but that’s nothing.”

Rêverie’s chest tightened, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her skin grew clammy, sweaty and her vision started to tunnel. She took several quick breaths, then closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Lena you _idiot_ , did you tell Winston?”

“I didn’t want to worry him.”

“You’re worrying _me_!”

Rêverie’s face was unguarded, her eyes wild. It was the most emotion Lena had seen on her face since the night they’d made love. “Rêverie, it’s-”

“It is not fine. This whole mess started because you were not fast enough.” Rêverie regretted hurting Lena, though she didn’t regret turning on Talon, or the process of healing herself mentally and physically. Her fingers dug into Lena’s shoulders, hard enough to make her wince.

“We were enemies, luv. That’s how it goes, don’t it? Widowmaker shoots at me, I shoot at her. Eventually one of us woulda hit the other. Besides.” She pried Rêverie’s fingers loose, then brought her hands up to her lips. “It was worth it. Ya freed yourself. With a little help from yours truly, of course!”

It was still hard for her to breathe, but she was stuck in this bed until Winston and Angela fitted her with new legs a fact that made her stomach churn. “Air. I need air.”

Lena looked around, then shrugged and bundled Rêverie into her arms. “Oof. Lay off the baguettes!” She was actually frighteningly light, but the joke was worth it when Rêverie smacked her shoulder. “It’s a nice night for a walk, innit?”

“If you ever tell anyone I let you do this, I will shoot you.” Rêverie laid her head on Lena’s shoulder. They kept doing this to each other and it was maddening. They passed by some windows and Reverie looked at her reflection. She looked as small as she felt, her hair dyed back to navy blue by Talon, but still in the shoulder length cut she’d chosen. Her skin had started to turn blotchy, her original color coming out in places and fading into the purple like splattered paint. Her face frowned back at her. 

As soon as they were outside, she started to breathe easier. It was dark, a blanket of stars above them and the moon at a half-crescent. That was good, she didn’t want to deal with bright lights right now.

It was a little late for it, but Lena remembered there was a wheelchair in the infirmary. Oh well. She set Rêverie down and then plopped down next to her, and watched her. Rêverie’s eyes were once again focused on something in the distance, but Lena couldn’t tell what. Slowly, she put an arm around her. “What are you thinking about?”

“The past. I have seen the lights dim in many eyes, and time and again. Talon took those faces from me. But they were always there, waiting for me to remember.” It was times like this that Rêverie couldn’t quite separate herself from Widowmaker. The memories were too strong, the torment she’d been put through too recent. It might never go away.

“So you’re like… hon hon regret?”

Rêverie narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I have many regrets, such as missing your heart.” 

She poked Lena in the ribs when she laughed at her. “That is not funny.”

“Sure it is!” Lena giggled, then leaned against her. “You’re smiling.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Sighing deeply, Rêverie let Lena win. “Maybe a little.”


	17. Past Tense

Amélie walked into the room, taking it in with a singular glance. The mirror along the opposite wall with it’s beam at waist level drew her attention. She approached the beam, trailing her hand over the wood, then rolled her shoulders and started her stretches. She was stiffer than she’d expected and had to stifle at least one groan as she loosened up. Yellow eyes looked back at her when she glanced at her reflection. They shifted to amber, then to their usual light brown. Blinking, Amélie stepped back from the bars. Music played, distant and tinny and Amélie lifted onto her toes, and spun slowly. 

Alone, she danced, her body responding to the music of its own accord. She spun, faster and faster, until the room became a blur. Amélie stopped abruptly and found herself facing the mirror.

Her mirror image stared back at her as she held a pose, one matte white shin crossing the other, the ball joints of her new legs working perfectly. It contrasted the blueish purple of her skin. There was something wrong with her face too. Something with her cheekbones and the shape of her eyes, just enough to momentarily throw her off. While she was still reeling from that patches of her natural skin color started to come through like someone was throwing paint at her body.

Unexpected tears streaked down her face. Amélie touched her fingers to the reflection and when they joined with the reflections’ fingers she almost felt a jolt. The room was suddenly dimmer, the mirror no longer covering the whole wall. Turning slowly, she realized she was in a gym of sorts.

A figure was standing in the doorway, haloed by the light behind it. Rêverie remembered a time long ago, when a young medical student had watched her practice. She gestured for Angela to come in, that sense of Deja Vu remaining. “I am adjusting to the new prosthetics. Merci, Mercy.”

Angela stepped into the room, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Rêverie was an attractive woman and her body was taut and alluring. If Angela wasn’t a professional it would be almost too much to handle. “That is, ah, good. The fine control is always the hardest to achieve, but I have worked under much more...difficult circumstances.” 

Rêverie regarded her, before approaching slowly. Voices in her head echoed. They were fading and soon she knew that they would be lost forever. She stopped just in front of Angela and cupped her face between her hands. “There is something that Amélie wanted to give you, but never could.”

Before Angela could reply, she was being kissed. Rêverie’s lips were cold, the pressure lingering against Angela’s. She stopped breathing, closing her eyes until she felt Rêverie’s presence leave her. She looked towards Rêverie’s retreating back, the chill on her lips giving her the fleeting impression that she’d just been kissed by a dead woman.

Rêverie looked over her shoulder, fixing Angela with a smile that belonged to someone Angela had mourned a decade ago. “Good bye, l’ange.” 

 

****

-

“Nanites?” Lena looked at the readout, then over to Winston and Angela. “I got little robots in my bloodstream?”

“The same ones that were in Rêverie’s,” Angela said. “Enhancing her healing while also helping to condition her. They transferred to you when she gave you that transfusion. Winston believes that the Nanites were affected by your time displacement, and that’s why your wound reappeared and then disappeared.”

Rêverie traced her finger over the letters on her arm, lost in her own thoughts. What they were discussing was not something she wanted to be concerned with. As long as Lena wasn’t going to die, it didn’t matter to her. The amount of attachment she had to the annoying Brit was of some concern, but most of her thoughts lay with what they were going to do about the data recovered when she’d been retrieved. 

“Rêverie. Rêverie!” Angela’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Oui?” Her fingers stilled and she looked at the doctor.

“You’re not listening.”

“You have more important things to worry about. You’ve recovered the whereabouts of dozens of Talon operatives and the plans for at least four attacks. They may not even realize what you have.” She slid to her feet, the movement elegant and dance-like. “You can...what is the phrase? Kneecap them.”

Lena tried to mask the hurt on her face. Rêverie glanced at her and let out a sigh. She felt some unusual compulsion to try to reassure Lena. She just didn’t like doing so in front of _people_. “I do not mean you are not important. But you are here, and you are alive. If you are alive, then I can worry instead about talon.”

Oh no. Rêverie regretted her choice of words almost immediately. Lena perked up. “So you _do_ care, dontcha! You got some squishy insides, I’m touched, really!”

“My insides are neither squishy nor-”

“Ladies,” Winston interrupted. He cleared his throat. “The point is, we don’t know when or if your injury will return, or how bad it might be. I don’t recommend you using your recall ability unless absolutely necessary.”

“That’s not a problem.” Lena tossed a salute in his direction. “I don’t need it, not really. I’m still gonna help.”

Rêverie had no objections. Besides, when Lena put her mind to something no one could stop her. No, Rêverie would have to find a different way to protect her, and still get her vengeance. “When are we going to act.”

We. Not ‘you’ this time. Not ‘Overwatch.’ She wasn’t joining, but if there was any action against Talon she wanted in on it. And if Overwatch would not act, Rêverie would burn Talon to the ground without them. She knew she’d never have peace as long as Talon existed, and doubted she would even if she survived all of this.

“About that,” Winston said. He activated the holo display with his feet, bringing up the globe. “I spoke with Reinhardt last night. He and Torbjorn will be meeting some contacts in Numbani. The records we stole indicated Talon wishes to disrupt a pro-Omnic rally.”

“It is a diversion,” Rêverie said, a sneer in her voice. “Oh, they want more disruptions, the more chaos the better it helps them. But non, they are there for something else.”

“The Doomfist,” Angela said.

“Oui.”

Lena pursed her lips, “So we need to get to it first.”

Winston tapped a finger on another spot of the globe. “We can let the others handle that, there’s something more pressing to worry about.”

Rêverie snorted. She still wanted to get her hands on the Doomfist, though it was more or less a matter of wounded pride at this point. “And what is that?”

“Cairo. We already have eyes on the ground there, but he’s not able to get very close.” Winston steepled his toes together as he leaned back in his chair. “During the Omnic Crisis, an AI was captured and locked down at a facility in Egypt. It’s already tried to escape once, recently. If it wasn’t for Captain Amari we’d already be in trouble.”

“Captain Amari?” Angela’s head snapped up before she remembered that Winston couldn’t be talking about Ana Amari. “Ah. Fareeha. She wanted to join Overwatch. I gave her a tour of one of our facilities a few years ago, shortly before it all went to hell. I would not mind seeing her again.”

Eyes darting from Winston, to Angela and then to Rêverie, Lena asked, “What happens if Talon unleashes that thing?”

Rêverie stared at the blinking light over Egypt, her expression cold and calculating. “Talon wants chaos, so that it can pursue its interests in relative peace. Unleashing that AI would spark another global war. I do not understand what they are thinking.”

“They could be trying to draw us out.” Angela gestured towards the globe. “Expose Overwatch as fully reconstituted. Governments hate us, but public opinion remains up in the air.”

“Non.” Rêverie looked at Angela, blinking slowly. “If they wanted to turn perception against you, they will use other measures. It would be easy enough to pin the deaths of innocents on you. That is more effective, and less dangerous to them.”

“It’s something we should be careful about, anyway,” Angela felt ill to her stomach. There’d been a time when everything had seemed perfect, but she knew now that it had simply been a lie, one she’d tricked herself into believing. Yet here she was. 

Angela had always been the optimist, the true believer. Rêverie pitied her for it. “Of course.” She turned away, walking towards the door in fluid, graceful steps. “Let me know when we are leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Lena sidled up next to her, an inquisitive expression on her face. 

With her back to the others, Rêverie allowed herself to give Lena a fond smile, glad that Lena was this predictable. “I need to pick out the perfect weapon. Why don’t you show me where I can find one?”

“All right! The armory is this way.” Lena grabbed Rêverie’s hand, and started to pull her down the hallways. Rêverie indulged her. It was like they were out on a date, Lena dragging her to the park. If the park was a room filled with deadly weapons, which in some ways was Rêverie’s perfect date.

Once inside, Rêverie slid the door shut and keyed in the lock. She picked Lena up by the shoulders and shoved her into a rack of rifles, kissing her passionately. The butt of a gun jabbed Lena’s shoulders, but she wasn’t nearly going to complain. Deft fingers undid her belt and caressed at her ribs under her top.

“Rêverie,” Lena gasped. She couldn’t stop herself from teasing. “Thought ya...ya wanted to look for a gun!” 

“Shall I stop?” 

“No!”

“Good.” Smiling, Rêverie pushed her hand into Lena’s trousers, taunting her with her fingers. She pressed her lips to Lena’s ear, “I nearly lost you. The only trigger I want to pull right now is this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologizes for the delay, the usual excuses etc etc. However, NaNo is coming up, and I intend to finish this fic's last few chapters as part of my word count!


	18. Future Tense

Lena was a little antsy as they prepared to take flight. It wasn’t just pre-mission jitters. She knew what those usually felt like, and this wasn’t that. There was a tightness in her chest and if she spent too much time thinking about it she thought she could pass out.

She glanced at Rêverie, and while her lover was only part of the reason she was antsy, she was enough of a reason for her to find something to focus on besides her own fears.

Rêverie was stone-faced, more the Widowmaker than she’d been in a long time and seemed to be wrapped up in something on her communication device. Lena couldn’t figure out what was going through her head. There was only one solution to this. She walked over to Rêverie, and plunked herself into her lap. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“The mission,” Rêverie replied. She locked the screen of her comm unit before Lena could have a chance to see what she’d been looking at. Her eyes dropped to Lena’s chest, to the Chronal Accelerator and where she knew a wound should have been. 

“That all?” Lena cupped Rêverie’s cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

In this line of work, when dealing with the kind of unknowns that surrounded Lena’s abilities, a promise wasn’t worth very much to Rêverie. Still, she nodded, a shaky breath escaping her lips before she leaned her face into Lena’s chest. Vulnerability was something Rêverie hated. While that would never change, she was more willing to let Lena see it than she ever thought she would.

For once, Lena didn’t have a snappy comeback. Her smile was tired. There were bags under her eyes and her skin was a little paler than usual. She hadn’t slept well and she only wished she had the fun reasons for why.

She threaded her fingers into Rêverie’s shoulder-length hair, wondering if Rêverie would bleach it again. Talon had forced their hair color of choice onto her. In their mind, Widowmaker was property, to be used of or disposed of as they saw fit. It made Lena angry just thinking about it. And no matter how well Rêverie tried to hide it or pretend that she had gotten over what had happened to her, Lena was certain that part of Rêverie remained hurting.

“Non,” Rêverie whispered. It was too much, she could feel burning behind her eyes and if she let Lena prod any more she’d be useless for the coming fight. This should have been settled. After escaping Talon. After the conversation about spiders. She should be able to move on and not dwell on the past. But maybe her heart wouldn’t be settled until Talon burned. She lifted her head. “I cannot do this. Not right now. Not when we have a mission.”

“Do what?” Lena whispered, taking Rêverie’s hand.

“ _Feel_.” Rêverie squeezed Lena’s hand back, before the same impassive expression from earlier settled back onto her face.

Something else for Lena to worry about. There was a difference between a game face and completely detaching oneself from their emotions. And Rêverie seemed to have found her off switch. She was retreating again, and it scared Lena.

“If you don’t let yourself feel…” Lena slid from Rêverie’s lap, and pressed a finger over her heart. “Then you’re being exactly who they wanted you to be.”

“I hate you,” Rêverie muttered. She smacked Lena’s hand away, then crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

Sulking was good. Lena could take sulking. “Liar.” 

Angela poked her head in, looking between them. “If I’m not interrupting anything, it’s time to go. The others are already on board. We’re wheels up in fifteen minutes, and we need a pilot, remember?”

“Any word from McCree, Angie?” Lena followed her towards the hangar. She could hear the clack of Rêverie’s boots behind her, and the woman’s presence like a looming shadow. It sent a shiver down her spine, and not for the first time she was glad that that shadow wasn’t trying to kill her anymore. 

She glanced back over her shoulder. With Winston’s help, Rêverie had acquired a new outfit. It was a tactical sort of ensemble that consisted of black pants with purple trim that hung low on her hips, and a flexible, lightly armored jacket. They matched the paint job on her new legs - she’d opted for black again. White was too obvious.

The jacket fit well to her body, and was black with purple lines running up her arms. She’d ripped the Overwatch patch from the shoulder and the absence of something there was obvious.

The triangular front panel of the jacket hung open at an angle, exposing a tight purple tank top underneath. Rêverie dangled a visor from her hand as she walked, similar in function and “eyes” to her Talon one but painted to match the rest of her gear. Lena hoped it was good enough. Rêverie had spent hours yesterday practicing with it and her new rifle. In the dark.

“McCree is your contact in Cairo?” Rêverie wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t successful in keeping the disdain from her voice and she ignored the look Angela shot her. “Is he not a bit out of his element?”

“He’s been looking for a new calling for years,” Angela said, looking back at them. “He jumped at the chance to help, and he’s more than capable. He’s been coordinating with the locals authorities.”

“Jesse and Angela go a ways back,” Lena explained, slowing to fall into step next to Rêverie. “From what I understand they kinda joined up at the same time.” She flashed a grin while looking at Angela’s back. Try as she might, she couldn’t resist a little jab. “That was way before my time. When it was just the old geezers.”

Angela shot Lena a look that could melt steel. “I heard that.”

“I am only four years younger than her, _cherie_ ,” Rêverie’s tone made Lena’s blood run cold.

“Did I say old geezers? What I _really_ meant was the old _guard_.” She wasn’t sure that was much better, and when Rêverie scoffed and sped up to walk with Angela, Lena couldn’t help but grimace. “Good work, Lena. Ya sure know to please the ladies.”

**-**

“Sakes alive…”

“I’m sorry, what?” Fareeha squinted her eyes as the man in front of her picked up his hat and dusted it off. His drawl brought back some memories about her mother and Overwatch that she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“That was a close’un.” Jesse McCree leaned back against the remains of a cement wall, and hazarded a peak around the side. He pulled back the hammer of his revolver. “We’re in a peck of trouble. Got any ideas, Cap?” 

Fareeha inspected her weapon, then ejected what looked like a dud rocket. “Your backup is late, so we need to buy some more time. Talon _can’t_ get into the vault.” Most of her squad was there. She’d taken a few out to try to draw Talon away from the real prize. They’d mostly succeeded, but the cost had been high. Fareeha didn’t want to lose any more people.

“Ain’t nothing about it, we’re gonna have to play a game.” 

She really hadn’t seen McCree in over ten years, but he’d been instantly recognizable. She was pretty sure that was the same hat. He was ruggedly handsome, though that definitely wasn’t her type. McCree still spoke in anachronistic lingo that left her scratching her head more often than not. “Does this game involve one of us being bait?”

“I’ll just sidle on up an’ draw their fire an’ you get all rumbumptious with your rockets, an’ we’ll call it a party.”

“I like this kind of party,” Fareeha replied. She flashed a grin that matched his. “Are you ready to dance?” Now that brought back a nice memory. Once when she was just a girl, Ana had brought her to meet the team. There’d been a little party and he’d danced with her. She’d stepped all over his feet in part because she couldn’t take her eyes off of Angela Ziegler.

“With a pretty gal like you? Anytime.” McCree tipped his hat, then rolled out of cover and opened fire. Talon operatives responded with a hail of bullets.

The jets on Pharah’s back opened up and sent her flying into the air. Being airborne was always the best part. Where she reached her apex and for just a second she was no longer being pulled by gravity but felt like she could float there forever. Her stomach floated in her torso, her blood pounded in her ears. 

Forever was never really an option, and she had a job to do. Her rockets sent vibrations up her arm as she took aim and fired. Two men were killed with a single hit, and the others scattered as she unloaded a full complement of rockets into the space. 

Something pinged her sensors and she turned in the air. A talon gunship zeroed in on her and on instinct Pharah threw everything she had at it. A barrage of rockets from every part of her armor twisted through the air towards the vehicle, contrails forming a pattern like ribbons. The pilot desperately tried to evade but it was much too late. The ship exploded brilliantly, going down in a flaming ball of twisted steel.

Too busy savoring the adrenaline of her victory, Pharah didn’t hear the rocket that locked in behind her until pain shot through her body and the ground rushed up to meet her. Dazed, Pharah still had enough sense to try to slow her fall. Just before impact, something caught her.

Pharah looked up into the face of a concerned Gorilla. She blinked her eyes, unsure of what she was seeing until a figure floated down next to him. Golden wings and golden hair haloed in the sun and it almost blinded Pharah. She shook her head to clear it. Angela’s was another face she hadn’t seen in a decade or more and she was every bit as beautiful as she remembered. More so.

“Mi gott, your arm…” Mercy grabbed onto it to get a look at it, but Pharah jerked away and tried to stand. She was dizzy, but she was fine. At least she thought she was fine.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _gone_!”

That stopped Pharah cold. She looked at it. There was twisted metal and wires below her bicep where her arm had been just moments ago. The pain was only now starting to register. “Damn.”

“We’ll fix it,” Winston promised. 

“Later. I’ve had worse,” Pharah said. She grabbed onto the metal stump, twisting until the remains of the artificial limb came off. She was flesh from her bicep up. She tossed it aside, and knelt to pick up her rocket launcher with her left hand. “There are two dozen Talon soldiers trying to breach the vault. I lost two men drawing half of them away, but McCree and I leveled the playing field. Now that you’re here we can hold this.” Pharah pulled off her ruined helmet and shook her hair out.

Angela stared a little too long. She told herself she was just making sure there was no head injury. Fareeha seemed fine, and there was nothing more she could do for Fareeha’s arm here. There were other people to worry about. “Your men, do you think there’s a chance I can help them?”

Fareeha glanced at Angela, and nodded. “One no. The other… maybe. She’s two streets over. We barely had time to drag her to cover.” It hadn’t looked good and they’d had no time to stabilize her. Fareeha had had to make a decision that she would have to live with.

“I’ll do what I can.” Once Angela had the directions, she took off at a brisk sprint. If she was fast enough, maybe she could save someone.

McCree sauntered up, thumbs hooked into his belt like he had all the time in the world. He’d have to catch up with Angela later. But Angela had more important things to do. He’d like to catch up with all of them, really. When they weren’t in danger of being shot at. “So what’s the plan, pardners?”

Somewhere, Reaper was regretting ever introducing Jesse McCree to westerns.

“Tracer’s already moving ahead, and we’ll have sniper cover,” Winston replied. “We let them harass Talon, while we help bulk up the defenses.”

Pharah’s radio crackled, and she lifted her helmet to her ear. “It might be too late. They need help.”

McCree nodded. “Then we need to mosey along, an’ quick like.”

“Agreed,” Pharah agreed. “Lets...mosey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to NaNo, the rest of this story is now complete. I still have a lot of editing to do, but regular updates will start once that's done!


	19. Digging In

“Left.” Lena’s voice was loud in Rêverie’s ear as she sighted down her scope and took out the designated target. Lena blinked to the other side of the alleyway, skidding at the end as she tried to avoid drawing more fire her way.

“Behind,” Rêverie whispered, and to her eternal delight Lena responded, flipping out of the way of the man who was coming up behind her and giving Rêverie a clear shot right between his eyes. The blood splatter was satisfying. Objectively, she knew she might have interacted with some of these people. Talked to them. Even sat down for dinner with them, as little as she ate or talked. It didn’t bother her, and she didn’t care. Combat hadn’t felt like this in years, outside of her fighting with Tracer. Tracer had become one of the few things she’d enjoyed, outside of a particularly good kill. 

Even though Talon had suppressed her thoughts and emotions, she’d found that she enjoyed the thrill of the kill, the heat of battle. But this was different. The thrill was no less thrilling but it felt new. With her and Reaper, they had known each other well enough to make for a deadly combo. She might have even gone so far as to call him a friend on a good day. She was used to working with a partner. But it felt different with Tracer. Their dance had always been different. More like a game when they were adversaries. At times the line between predator and prey had been blurred, and they’d learned their own dance steps in the process, but now, now they were both the hunters. That game continued. Lena gave her targets, Rêverie warned her of danger. It made Rêverie feel _alive_.

Rêverie’s vision blurred as the full impact of that hit her. Not here, no, not here. She couldn’t afford to let herself feel here.

“Rêverie, are you listening?”

“Oui, pardon.”

“Some of them have broken inside, we need to get in there. The others are on their way!”

“You go in, I will cover you, and then I will join you myself.”

“Thanks, luv!” Through her scope, Rêverie could see the little salute Tracer gave her before she took off, and she allowed herself to feel her smile.

Once it was clear, she dropped from her perch and darted into the facility. Pharah’s team had entrenched themselves at a chokepoint half way inside. She could see evidence of a previous battle, and remembered the intelligence reports about the last time the AI almost broke free. It was a stupid thing to keep alive, but then it was probably difficult to eliminate without risking it escaping.

Rêverie approached the defenders’ position with some trepidation, an emotion she was unfamiliar with. Pharah’s team had succeeded in holding the final corridor leading to the vault and Talon was regrouping, but that didn’t mean that the situation was any less dangerous. Not just for them but for herself. Rêverie knew that Widowmaker was a wanted person. More than anyone in Cairo, most likely. They could very well shoot her. Not that she’d ever let on she was _nervous_ of course. All eyes were on her as she walked up, gun shouldered and oozing confidence.

“Hold up.” McCree emerged from cover, pointing his revolver at her. “ _She’s_ our sniper? Are y’all _cracked_?!”

Angela put her hand on Jesse’s arm, forcing him to lower his weapon. “It’s a long story, but yes, she’s with us. She wants to take Talon down just as much as we do. Tracer and I trust her.”

“All right.” Still eyeing Rêverie, Jesse holstered his revolver and offered his hand. “On account of Angie vouchin’ for you, welcome to the posse Widowmaker.”

Rêverie stared at his hand, then back up to his scruffy face. Part of her wanted to shoot the grin off of it. Slowly, she reached for his hand and took it. “Widowmaker is dead. My name is Rêverie.”

“Well, you’re _pretty_ like a dream.” He tipped his hat, then turned around to regard the others, looping his thumbs on his belt again. “We need a plan, or they’re gonna smoke us out an’ I don’t know about any of y’all but I got me an aversion to dyin.’”

Lena squinted at McCree, giving him the stink eye. She leaned in and whispered to Rêverie. “I think he was flirting with you and I think if he does that again I’m gonna hit him.”

“I didn’t mind,” Rêverie purred. She glanced at Lena out of the corner of her eye. “Do not pout. You have nothing to worry about, _chatton_.” Rêverie reached over, trailing a finger down Lena’s cheek. “You are the only one for me.”

She was in such a good mood. This was what she loved doing. Rêverie was having the growing realization that people didn’t need to fear her to respect her, and that these people actually seemed to mean it. And none of them expected anything more from her than that which she wanted to give. The company was almost as good as the killing.

Now was not the time for epiphanies. Rêverie would never voluntarily join Overwatch. But _maybe_ she could work with them on occasion, though they might not be too happy with her plans going forward. She had been studying the intel they’d gleaned. There was a name in particular she was interested in, someone she could lay a lot of blame on. The more she’d read the angrier she’d gotten, until she’d forced herself to skip to reading on a different target rather than give in to the rage. That would all have be another day. Her plans and Overwatch’s moral code wouldn’t see eye to eye. She only hoped Tracer would understand.

Rêverie unslung her rifle and searched for a good position. “They will not be long. I suggest that we get ready.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Lena agreed. “There’s no telling what we’re gonna be facing.”

“There are three squads of fifteen each. I believe Reaper is present as well, but I am unable to confirm that.” Genji’s voice was so sudden and unexpected that Lena nearly recalled. 

She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. “Warn a person before ya just drop in like that!”

Genji slid down the wall and nodded at her. Somehow, through the glow of his visor, Lena thought his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“Hey. Good to see you.” McCree nodded at Genji. He swiped his thumb over the brim of his hat, his eyes darting to the side. “Heard...uh… Heard from your brother lately?”

“It is good to see you too, Jesse McCree.” Genji bowed his head. “I am afraid I haven’t spoken with Hanzo in months.”

McCree shrugged off his disappointment. “Kinda figured. Just wanted to ask.”

A chuckle came from Angela. She looked a little haggard, blood staining the front of her Valkyrie suit. She hadn’t been able to save Pharah’s squadmate, and like all those she lost it weighed on her. Laughing at something gave her relief. She glanced up where Rêverie was perched, but the sniper was focused completely with staring down her scope.

“Focus,” Winston said. He shifted around, squinting his eyes down the corridor. It was a choke point, made more effective with crates and other detritus that had been piled to form a make-shift barricade. “Remember what’s at stake here.” He nodded to Fareeha “This is your operation, Captain. What are your orders?”

Pharah had been attempting to salvage what she could from her helmet, while the Raptora system was running a check on her suit’s status. The damage was significant, but she thought it would hold together long enough to matter. And even then she’d been a soldier since she was a teenager. She could still fight the old fashioned way, if she had to. 

Pushing together some of the debris to form a makeshift battle plan, Pharah said, “My men have laid traps along the two corridors leading to this choke point. Additionally, we salvaged some of the Omnics from the previous incident and programmed them to shoot at anything that doesn’t register as one of us. I think that will slow Talon down and thin the herd.”

That still left Winston and Overwatch. She looked them over. “Our sniper should remain where she is, there’s a line of sight right down the corridor and it’s the perfect kill zone. Winston, I want you here with me and my men. McCree, make your way to the vault.”

McCree wasn’t sure if that would actually accomplish anything. “If they get past you folks what makes you think I’m worth a hill of beans?”

“They may find a way past us without us noticing. We’ll need someone at the vault to stop them and to warn us.”

He nodded. “Fairnuff.”

Pharah pointed at Genji. “Try to get behind them. Take down their commanders. Be a pain in their asses.”

“I will separate the head from the body,” he promised.

“And what do ya want from me, luv?” Lena leaned in expectantly. “I can get them riled up. Be like a ghost! Here, no there! I’ll be everywhere!”

“That’s _exactly_ what I want from you. Annoy them, piss them off, make them make mistakes.”

“In other words, cherie,” Rêverie called out from above them, her voice echoing through the vault, “Be yourself.”

Saluting smartly, Tracer backed towards the hallway. In a flash of blue light, she was gone.

Hefting her rocket launcher, Pharah stared down the hallway. She felt a presence to her right, and realized Angela had snuck up on her. Angela smiled tiredly. “I will cover this side for you, when the others do not need me.”

Pharah nodded once. “ _Shukraan_. This is...not how I ever imagined myself working with Overwatch.”

“ _Bitte_.” Mercy gripped her staff tighter. “It wasn’t something your mother ever wanted. ”

Frowning for just a moment, Pharah shook off the memory of her mother. “It’s what I wanted.”

“Then that’s what matters.” She put her hand on Pharah’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back, Fareeha.”

Something bounced down the hallway, and someone shouted, _”Flash!_ ”

Pharah turned her head as it went off. Her ears rang, but she could still mostly see, and she sent a rocket down towards the first unfortunate souls to attempt to come through the kill zone.


	20. The Stand

Above them, Rêverie continued to peer through her scope. She couldn’t see Lena anymore, but she could hear the distant sound of the blinking and Lena’s laughter echoing. Rêverie snorted. At least Lena was having fun. Good. She caressed her trigger. The shape was new to her. She’d been using the same rifle design for so long that it had become an extension of her body. Like a fifth limb. This one was different. Similar in the ways that it needed to be, but with a personality all its own. It was like learning a new lover, different but no less as good.

Rêverie stroked the trigger again. Yes. Just like a new lover. The recoil jarred her shoulder when she shot down another Talon soldier. “Easy, mon amour…” She adjusted the positioning of the rifle against her body, and the next shot was less jarring. “Mm. Better. We are learning each other, non? I knew you were the one, when I laid eyes on you.”

She put her crosshairs over a man’s head, and the rifle responded to her touch. Rêverie was rewarded with another kill. There’d been notches on her Talon rifle, for the better kills. Mondatta. Green. Some others. But here in this place, there was no one worth marring her new rifle with. Rêverie lifted her head from the scope, then readjusted her position. Through it, she saw Winston setting up a barrier. She focused the crosshair on his head, musing about how many other times she’d nearly blown his brains out, then returned her aim down the corridor. “They are preparing another push. You best be prepared.”

“Understood.” Winston beat a fist on his chest and lept into a group of Talon soldiers as they rounded the corner. He bashed one’s head in, swinging his fist around and knocking another into the wall. As if on cue, a blue blur rushed past, a small explosion in its wake. Followed the movement with her scope, a flash of green gave away Genji’s position. Really, she could kill them all now, before they had a chance to react. Months ago, she would have. Even now, she wondered what it would feel like.

There was a momentary lull, before chaos erupted as Talon threw everything they had at them. Rêverie could barely keep up, moving from target to target until her magazine was empty. She reloaded and took aim again. The boom of rockets melded with the crack of her rifle and Winston’s bellows until it was a deafening cacophony. Yet Rêverie felt like something was wrong. She had a second sense when it came to her old partner, and he hadn’t made an appearance yet.

She touched her earbud. “...Has anyone seen _Reaper_?”

**-**

“Gettin’ mighty lonesome,” McCree mused. He could hear the combat and his finger itched to pull the trigger. His hand was kept on the pearl handle of his revolver while he walked around near the vault. It was actually kind of creepy. He knew what lay inside it and what could happen if Talon helped it break free and sometimes it felt like something was watching him. Something not human and yet very much alive. He couldn’t fathom what Talon wanted or why, or even if they fully understood the consequences of their actions.

And the scattered remains of the omnics that remained from the AI’s break out attempt were creeping him out something fierce.

“I ain’t afeared of no omnics.” He just wished they’d stop looking at him. Something rattled nearby and he rolled into cover. Footsteps approached. McCree drew his gun, and waited. Tthe rustling of cloth reached his ears, and then a figure in black stepped up to the vault.

McCree straightened, pointing at the figure. “Hands to the sky, buckaroo.”

The figure lifted his hands, turning slowly. He chuckled, a low sinister sound that made McCree’s spine shiver. So this was Reaper? “An’ everyone calls _me_ out for bein’ extra.”

Reaper started to say something in reply, but then cut himself off when he looked good and hard at McCree. His mask had subtle differences compared to his original one. For reasons unknown to him, Mercy had left him alive and taken his mask. This new one was as unreadable as the last, but there was the faintest trace of recognition in the gravelly voice. “You have _got_ to be fucking with me.”

“Is it the hat? It’s the hat ain’t it. Everyone _loves_ the hat.” McCree gestured with the barrel of his pistol. “Why don’t we mosey on down to the others. This don’t gotta get messy.”

Reaper moved in a blur, kicking McCree in the chest, before running towards the vault. He slapped something onto it and keyed something in. Jesse picked himself up, taking aim and firing at the other man. The bullets passed harmlessly through him and McCree shot off several more shots in disbelief. He started to give chase but quickly realized that was what Reaper wanted. He ran back to the vault door and inspected the device. It was an explosive. “Aw shit. Okay. Okay. McCree, you can do this.”

“Red wire or white wire?” Reaper pressed a gun to the back of McCree’s head. “Only two minutes to find out.” He pushed the weapon harder into McCree’s skull. There was something strange in his voice. Regret or nostalgia, maybe even sadness. “You’re on the wrong side, Jesse. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

McCree lifted his hands. Where did he know that voice from? “I don’t right know what you’re talkin’ about but I kinda agree. It ain’t gotta be like this. You know what’ll happen if you win, doncha? All hell breaks loose.”

“I’m _already in hell_!”

Something hit Reaper in the back of the head, and then in the side of his face. He stumbled away, turning to try to track what was attacking him. Mercy hit him with her staff a third time. “We have got to stop meeting like this, Reyes.”

_Reyes?!_ McCree mouthed the word like he couldn’t believe it.

“Reyes is dead!” Reaper backpeddeled. Mercy wasn’t alone, the rocket soldier had followed her and from the sound of approaching thunder the damned gorilla wasn’t far behind. This was usually less of a problem when his backup wasn’t a squad of barely trained novices. But he could buy time. Time was all he needed. Time was the _goal_. Laughing, he declared, “There’s no time. Once that door blows, it’s all over. For _everyone_.”

“Don’t worry luvs! I’ve got nothing _but_ time!!” Tracer appeared at full speed, and before anyone could say another word she grabbed the bomb and flashed away.

Reaper chuckled. While everyone was distracted by Tracer’s abrupt arrival and departure, he took his chance to escape. “Sombra, they took the bait.”

McCree noticed his absence first, running down the hallway and looking around. He leaned against the wall and pulled his hat off. “Gabriel. I can’t believe it. I don’t wanna.”

**-**

Lena didn’t think she needed to get very far. It was a directed explosive, powerful enough to punch through six inches of steel, so it was pretty big but as long as it was pointed away from where the AI was located and didn’t take out any important structural supports, it shouldn’t be a problem. Her main worry was for other people getting hurt. Pharah’s soldiers, the others, civilians. It didn’t matter what happened to her as long as they’d all be okay. Lena always pushed herself to her limit. Others might say she had a deathwish. She just needed to find a good spot to make a crater before it was too late. She came out of the facility and right into a crowd of police and soldiers.

“Oh _bugger_.” She waved the bomb above her head. “ _Excuse me_! I’ve got a bomb here! Unless you’re the bomb squad you gotta let me get through!” The beeping was growing louder and she thought she was crazy because it sounded faster too. “Move it!!”

Enough of a gap parted that she was able to leap over most of them and blink towards what she hoped was an empty alley, the bomb’s beeping only growing more urgent. She pushed her chronal accelerator to it’s limit and threw the bomb. 

Almost too late, she saw someone in it’s path. Veering off course, she grabbed the person, losing her balance and skidding along the concrete. She hit her recall, pulling the both of them back out of the alley. They passed the bomb as it seemed to be frozen in the air.

The timer showed 00:01.


	21. Timelapse

Part of Fareeha just really wanted a nap, or a nice meal. They’d barely escaped the apocalypse for a second time. McCree had seemed shaken by something but had still colorfully pointed out that they’d made it out by the skin of their teeth. Her recommendation to her superiors after this was that they destroy the AI. Bury it so that no one could ever try to go after it again. It was about as dangerous a prospect as leaving the status quo but twice in single year now, they’d averted disaster. Fareeha didn’t hold out much hope of that actually happening.

She settled down on a bench, rolling her shoulders and balling her hands into fists. Her new arm was responding well.

Angela hesitated at the door, watching Fareeha as she picked up some weights to test her arm. She wasn’t wearing much more than a tight tank top and work-out shorts, which gave Angela a full view of toned muscles and a broad back. Both of Fareeha’s arms were synthetic. Her right was flesh from the shoulder to just above the elbow, and the left was synthetic all the way to her shoulder blade. Her left leg was also synthetic up to her thigh. Angela could only guess at where those injuries had come from and she didn’t think she knew Fareeha well enough to pry just yet.

“Enjoying the view, doctor?” Fareeha glanced over her shoulder, glad for the sputtering, flustered reaction she got.

“No. Yes, I mean…” Angela brought a hand to her face. “I wanted to check on you, see how the new arm is doing.”

“It’s lighter than the old one. I might have to consider putting in for a full refit.”

Angela frowned. “You sound like you are talking about a ship or tank.”

A smile passed over Fareeha’s face, as she turned to give Angela more of her attention. She didn’t put the weights down. “I’m a soldier, Angela.” She set down one of the weights, then slid her foot under it to lift it up. “How is Lena?”

Reminding herself that she was a doctor and it was impolite to _stare_ , Angela coughed. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

“That wound, it couldn’t have been caused by the explosion.”

“No, it wasn’t. It’s…” Angela didn’t have any other word than ‘complicated’ to finish that sentence. “She was wounded before, but it got better. Something keeps happening to her, thanks to her chronal disassociation and the wound keeps reappearing, as though it were fresh.”

Fareeha nodded. “Thank you, that makes sense.” She dropped the other weight, and came over to Angela, rubbing her hands on her shorts. “I was reviewing some of the reports after the battle. I think there was another combatant.”

“What do you mean?” Angela tilted her head, meeting Fareeha’s eyes. They were beautiful, with humor and an intense intelligence behind them.

“They found some Talon operatives knocked out from some kind of sedative dart. Someone was discreetly taking out some of our enemy and relieving the pressure. I don’t know if it turned the tide, but it certainly helped.”

“I doubt they decided to take a nap on the job,” Angela offered.

Smiling back at her, Fareeha replied. “Everyone knows you need an afternoon nap before unleashing hostile AIs.”

“Of course.”

“How is Wid- _Rêverie_?” Fareeha had accepted the sniper’s presence easily. If Angela and Winston had trusted her she wasn’t going to argue, at least not in public. But Rêverie had proven herself beyond anything Fareeha had expected. And seeing the way she’d cradled Lena’s body…

“Still with Lena. She hasn’t said much.” Angela gestured in the direction of the infirmary. “The others are doing better, though.”

Besides the two lost in the diversion tactic, another three had died and a half dozen were injured. Fareeha knew Angela had done everything she could. Though she’d heard of the doctor performing miracles, she also knew that such miracles often came with a price and no miracle was perfect. “Thank you. I know you did your best for them.”

“Sometimes, my best isn’t good enough. But we could have lost more. The doctors here are very good. I don’t think I could have saved Lena without their help.” It had been so hectic. Lena had needed emergency surgery, and one of the other wounded had been touch and go as well. Dr. Hussain had shown her a new technique that was sure to get a lot of use.

Fareeha nodded. Cairo had some of the best hospitals in the world. Between Angela and the skill of the doctors here, she couldn’t have asked for better treatment for her squadmates. Sometimes you lost people. Fareeha didn’t like it, but she understood it. That was simply war. She’d lost both her mothers to it, and too many friends. Someday, she would give her own life to it too. Thinking about it too much was unhealthy.

Needing to talk about things other than blood and death, Fareeha picked up a towel and slung it around her shoulders. “Do you want to get lunch with me? I don’t want to go far until I’m sure my teammates are okay, but there’s a place down the street. They make an amazing spiced chicken molokheya.”

“I’d… ja, I would like that.” Angela put a hand on Fareeha’s arm. She could use some breathing space away from the operating table, and the company was certainly nice.

**-**

The window in the infirmary looked out over the street. Rêverie could see Angela and Fareeha walking down it together. Interesting. She had mixed feelings about Fareeha. On the one hand, she was someone who could be respected. On the other, Rêverie detested the adherence to duty. It was too close to Talon’s brainwashing and she wasn’t sure she saw much difference in the end.

She moved her eyes over to the figure on the bed. For three days, Rêverie had kept a vigil. Such things were not unusual for her, though typically her vigils involved laying in wait for her prey. Except for others coming and going, she was mostly alone in her thoughts. When McCree had checked in, he’d seemed a little distracted. He’d been one of Tracer’s teammates so it made sense that he’d check on her, but Rêverie could only guess at the thoughts going through his head. She surmised that he finally knew what happened to his old mentor. He talked too much, and she didn’t offer much in the way of insight. Rêverie wouldn’t know where to begin.

They’d found Tracer on top of a young girl, shielding the child with her body. It hadn’t been the explosion that had gotten her. No, the blood that stained Lena’s jacket and shirt had come from the same bullet that had sent Rêverie’s life spiraling out of control. And now Lena may actually die from it. Rêverie still remembered that day. There’d been that moment of elation, the flood of adrenaline she felt from a good kill. And then something else. Anger and grief and more emotions than she knew how to deal with. In that moment, with that kill, Widowmaker had learned that Tracer was the one she might actually regret. At least, among those she remembered.

Rêverie lifted hand to her own forehead, then pulled some hair into her line of sight. Talon’s dye was still there, and she’d have to do something about that soon. She could cut her hair shorter but it was already short enough for her taste. But maybe she’d bleach it again and not even dye it. Rêverie had started to grow fond of that color. Like a clean slate. Maybe, once Talon was torn down and the people responsible for Widomaker were dead, she would dye it _red_. A dark, bloody red. It would be fitting. Either way, it let her reclaim some amount of control over her own body.

Were there other kills she might have regretted? So many memories were shells or shattered mirrors. Closing her eyes, she tried to force herself to confront her past. There had been a memory, when Reaper had used her trigger word. Not the one with Angela, but a later one. That boy who had accused her of killing him. But she'd never killed a boy. She'd only ever killed her targets. A boy had never gotten in the way, nor had he ever been a target and Widowmaker had been very good at avoiding too much collateral damage.

The cracks in her memory made trying to find the right one like reaching into a box of broken glass. Some memories had three differing versions of events. It made her head ache. When she actually _wanted_ to remember, she couldn’t. When she wanted to forget, the memories wouldn’t leave her be.

“Ugh.” She opened her eyes. Rêverie knew she couldn’t find the answers just sitting here. The longer she did nothing, the more time Talon had to prepare and the more time they had to hide. 

Picking up her phone, she paged through it. She’d made sure to copy the files Tracer had retrieved, and she’d been studying them when she could. It would not be difficult to track down Talon operatives, even those in deep cover. If she could not chop off the head, she would dismember them instead, finger by finger and limb by limb. If Talon’s reach was shortened, perhaps that might be worth something. At least to ease her conscience, the one that too often had the face of a certain annoying girl.

The decision made, Rêverie acknowledged and accepted it, then turned her gaze to Lena.

Lena was still laying there, machines beeping and her breathing shallow. Rêverie stood, and walked over to the bedside. She fussed with Lena’s hair, adjusted the sheet in case she was cold and then just stared at her. “We worked well together on this mission. Better than I ever expected. But what I must do next, I must do alone. I am still a spider after all, and as much as you might wish it otherwise, a spider must hunt.” 

Touching the tattoo on her own arm, Rêverie dropped her voice to a whisper. “They wanted a nightmare. First, they buried Amélie under it. And now Widowmaker has joined her. Maybe you will too. But dreams and nightmares are the same thing, it is all in how you interpret it.” She had a list of names and locations. One in particular that had been placed at the top of that list. A scientist. Her eyes darkened. “They wanted a nightmare, and I will show them one.”

Pressing her lips to Lena’s forehead, Rêverie mouthed the words she could never trust herself to say. Running her thumb over Lena’s mouth, she allowed herself just one more minute. “Merci, cherie. Au Revoir.”


	22. Along Came a Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’s making a list, and checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty and nice. Widowmaker is coming for you.*
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> *Disclaimer: This chapter is the exact opposite of lighthearted, violence and blood related triggers apply

The carpet was stained with blood as Rêverie nudged the body with her foot. The blood was unfortunate, as it was a nice carpet. The target had been James Sinclair. A United States Senator deep in Talon’s pockets who had pushed through more than one bill that Talon found useful to their cause. There wasn’t even all that much on him that was that incriminating as far as a Senator was concerned. Not like other, more deserving targets on her list. 

Sinclair had enjoyed doing what he was doing, and Talon had paid him well for it, earning back what they spent and then some. Sinclair had pull, connections that let the organization operate freely within North America. Now, he’d no longer have his thumb on the scale. She blew the man a kiss, and then grappled out the window.

One after the other, that was how it was as Rêverie went down her checklist. In Argentina she shot an undercover assassin from a mile away. The woman had never known she was even in danger and her last words were lost. In Los Angeles, Rêverie arranged an accident for a popular musician who had his bank account open to Talon. In Mexico City, Talon had blackmail on the Mayor. Rêverie simply released the video that had kept him in their grasp. She thought that Tracer might approve of that over the bloody alternative and the video quickly became the most watched video in Mexico by a large margin. Not every name required a bullet or a death, but mostly, Rêverie became a waking nightmare for Talon.

Besides the politicians and pop stars, Talon had agents in deep cover. Most were volunteers but there were some like Rêverie. People with their minds broken and memories wiped. People who were waiting input. They were often placed in government or corporate leadership. Some were in influential positions overseeing banking, telecommunication, technology, and energy all over the world. They were dangerous. 

And they were unfortunate. She could give them a chance, see if they broke their conditioning, but she didn’t think there was enough time for that. Rêverie knew very well she sometimes danced on a razor’s edge between being the woman she wanted to be, and losing her mind completely. They had to die, so she planned to make their deaths as quick and painless as possible. Maybe that wasn’t efficient. Maybe Overwatch or someone else might get closer to her if she did that. But to Rêverie, that was the best compromise she could give. A painless death, instead of living in agony.

She was counting on Talon operatives and spies panicking, to flush out others and to keep Overwatch, Interpol and anyone else off of her scent. For the most part it worked, and after the sixth kill she was almost caught. With her pursuers too close for comfort, she changed up her MO and her routine. 

Rêverie became more unpredictable, picking targets at random and sometimes taking weeks to kill them. From what she could tell, it was starting to work. Her trail had gone cold, and even better there were reports of people turning themselves or other spies in.They were attempts for leniency or on a prayer that Widowmaker would not find them. It spiraled into a feeding frenzy. She would occasionally find one of the ones that turned themselves in and give them warning shots. Just to let them know she was watching. 

Through her actions, Rêverie let the myth of Widowmaker live on, mostly because it kept her real name out circulation. Once this was done, ‘Widowmaker’ would have to die. Rêverie looked forward to that day. 

By the time she turned her attention to the top of her list, sixteen people had died, another six had been exposed, and two dozen had turned themselves and others in. Rêverie suspected that at least some of them had been loose ends that Talon had hoped she’d eliminate, but she’d taken out enough legitimate targets as well that she expected the organization was on the verge of a tailspin.

At the top of her list was the scientist in the United Kingdom who’d provided much of the expertise that had created Widowmaker. Her research had led to the brain altering technology and she’d helped with the chemical mix and even the psychology that had gone into breaking Amélie Lacroix down. Her fingerprints were even on the nanites within her blood. Widowmaker existed because of this woman and her research.

Dr. Samantha Essex was _personal_.

If Essex had been been alerted to the trail of bodies and ruined careers, it wasn’t obvious to an outside observer. Even if she knew, did she think she was next or had Talon kept her in the dark? Perhaps Talon thought to use her for bait to draw Rêverie out. It was a possibility, but Rêverie was counting on the idea that if she hadn’t come for Essex by now, Talon would assume she didn’t know who or where she was. The other possibility was that they were hoping she’d clean up a loose end for them. Rêverie was fine with that, but she had no intention of getting caught.

As a precaution, Rêverie laid in wait for three days. She studied Essex, the woman’s comings and goings and the people that she interacted with. Rêverie was all the more cautious because she suspected that Essex’s work with Talon continued. If that was the case there would be very little time to escape after she terminated her.

Essex had a routine after her work at her lab in Manchester. She always took tea in the evening on the balcony of her upscale condo, looking out over the city. It made her a perfect target for even a half-witted sniper. It would be easy. One shot, and she could watch the blood blossom from Essex’s forehead. There was a certain satisfaction in such a kill. Either Essex was foolish or ignorant or there was something else going on. On the second day Rêverie noticed a shimmering field on the balcony. It was shielded. Not so easy.

No matter. With Dr. Essex a bullet would not be satisfaction enough. Rêverie wanted to see the light fade from her eyes up close and personal. When Essex stepped back inside on the third night, Rêverie struck from behind, drawing a thin wire across her neck and pulling it tight. Essex thrashed wildly, struggling to grasp at Rêverie’s hands or the garrote. It cut her fingers, and sliced into her neck. She gagged, warm blood dribbling down her throat, raw panic on her face.

“Do you remember a woman named Amélie Lacroix, Dr. Essex? You do not need to answer. You recognized me, do you not? That is your answer, I see it in your eyes.” Rêverie’s voice grew harsher, a sudden burst of anger flooding her veins. “ You killed Amélie. Oh her body lived. It was her _mind_ you broke. Her memories you stole. Her good name you _destroyed_!” She pulled harder, lifting Essex off of the ground with her strength. Essex kicked feebly, her struggling weaker by the second. 

Rêverie’s voice trembled. “For years they thought she was a murderer! I laughed at it. Amélie, the artist, the dancer, a murderer? _A ludicrous thought_.” Rêverie’s hands were shaking but she only pulled the wire tighter and tighter. A mirror reflected the scene, Essex’s face turning blue, blood flowing down her throat and over Rêverie’s gloved fingers. 

Their eyes met in the mirror, Essex’s pleading and Rêverie’s burning. Rêverie growled low and dangerous. Like a storm she burst, almost screaming. “Talon took my legs! My husband! My _mind_! You took _everything_ from me!”

Essex stopped moving. Rêverie let her go and she fell to the ground in a heap, blood pooling on the hardwood floor from where the garrote had sliced through her neck. Blank eyes stared back as Rêverie loomed over the body. 

Warm tears fell down Rêverie’s face and she let out a choked sound. “They made me kill _children_.”

“Rêverie...”

Startled, she turned, hand halfway to the gun at her hip before she recognized the figure in the doorway. “Tracer. How did you find me?”

Lena’s hand was covering her mouth, her eyes darting from the body on the floor to Rêverie’s tear streaked face and reddened eyes. It was one thing to follow a trail of bodies when they’d gone cold and their crimes had been revealed. But the blood was still warm and flowing, and the kill had been brutal and sloppy. She’d witnessed enough of it to haunt her dreams for a long time to come.

When Lena didn’t answer her, Rêverie sighed heavily and gestured to Essex’s body. Her voice wavered, tears threatening to come again. “This is who I am, cherie. This is who she created me to be.”

Wide-eyed and angry, Lena snapped. “You can’t keep going round _killing_ people! Is Widowmaker actually dead or did you just hide to bring her out when it’s _convenient_!? You can’t bloody kill everyone remotely linked to Talon! What’s next, some poor boy once ran an errand for them without knowing?”

Stepping over the body, Rêverie pulled her gloves off, then grabbed Lena by the shoulders and pushed her back against the wall. Lena didn’t resist, only lifting her head defiantly when she hit the wall. 

“I cannot change what I am. I cannot change what I’ve done, but I can make them bleed, make them regret all that they’ve created!”

“How many of them were like you?” She could feel Rêverie’s finger digging into her shoulders, and through them how much Rêverie was shaking. “ How many of them did you take away the same chance I gave you?”

“I was once like them!”

“And look at how you’ve changed.” Lena wrapped her hands around Rêverie’s wrists and moved her hands from her shoulders. She stared into Rêverie’s eyes, “Did killing her like that make you feel better?”

“Oui.” Turning away, Rêverie wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at the body. “She deserved it.”

“Don’t look like it made you feel better to me.”

“What do you _know!_ ” Voice cracking, she glared at Lena. So much of this was Lena’s fault. The emotions, the _feeling_ , the _guilt_. Lena’s dig about the boy had struck a nerve, more than anything to do with Essex. The body lay at her feet and she felt like everything she’d been building was crashing down around her. She would do it all over again. She pointed at Essex’s body. “There were others. Those who programmed Widowmaker, those who pumped her full of drugs and nanites. But everything that she was, _I_ was, started with her.”

Lena put a hand on Rêverie’s shoulders. She wished she’d gotten here sooner, but with Rêverie it always seemed like she was running late. Voice cracking, she suggested, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fine.” She turned on her heel, then stopped short. “Are you…. Are you _crying_?”

“It’s… it’s nothing.” Lena wiped at her eyes. She always wore her heart on her sleeve and the hurt and disappointment was clear on her face. She hadn’t felt quite like this since Mondatta, and she wondered if she’d built something inside her head between her and Rêverie that didn’t exist. She could forgive Rêverie for Widowmaker’s actions but she didn’t know how she really felt about _Rêverie’s_ actions. “I’m real tired, an’ I know you gotta be too. We gotta lay low for a few days. Figure some things out.”

Rêverie thought Lena was taking this too well. The girl had too good a heart and tried too hard to let Rêverie be Rêverie. Even Rêverie understood that relationships were compromise and she couldn’t remain entirely unchanged, nor did she actually want to remain static. Lena’d witnessed the worse that Rêverie was capable of and hadn’t run off or tried to kill her yet. Maybe that was part of _Lena_ changing. Lena had never been innocent, but she was naive and hopeful. The world was too cruel for a woman like her. 

Looking back to Essex’s body, Rêverie felt raw inside as it sank in that Lena hadn’t been entirely wrong. The kill hadn’t been what she’d expected. She wasn’t _happy_. But it was something else. Something hard to put words to. It had been _cathartic_. 

Were anyone else present, she would have feigned her usual aloofness, but for Lena she let her shoulders sag. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“We can sneak out the back way.” Lena started to walk, but was stopped when Rêverie grabbed her arm. “What?”

“I am glad you are okay.”

The smile barely reached Lena’s eyes, but it was genuine. “We’ll talk when it’s safe.”

“I suppose we will.”


	23. What Makes a Monster

Lena’s safe house looked like a bomb had hit it. There was clothing all over the floor and the kitchen table was half a crate on it’s side with salvaged bar stools for chairs. The walls were covered in discarded movie posters and the couch had seen better days. But it wasn’t under her real name, and it would let them lay low for a few days while they figured out their next move. Widowmaker was a wanted murderer, after all, and Lena was harboring her.

Maybe that wasn’t the smartest move, especially in light of Rêverie’s seeming backslide into assassination and a literal killing spree across four continents. But Lena owed her her life, and her emotions surrounding Rêverie were complicated. 

Ignoring the dubious look on Rêverie’s face, Lena darted past her and made her way to the kitchen. The fridge looked about as bad as the couch. Lena thought that something in the back looked alive, but there was water and beer and that would have to be enough for now. It was a stark contrast to Rêverie’s idyllic safe house in Greece. Lena couldn’t help but feel that was somehow appropriate. She handed Rêverie a beer, then stripped her jacket off and unhooked her harness.

The beer smelled fine, though Rêverie eyed it before taking a sip. “Ugh, this is terrible.”

“It’s that or water, and I dunno about you but I really need a drink right now.” Lena fell back onto the couch and propped her feet up onto a fire-damaged coffee table. She watched as Rêverie set her beer down and started to remove her combat gear. Rêverie hung the jacket over a kitchen chair, then pulled her pants down and folded them, placing them on the chair as well. 

Clad only in her purple tank top and matching knickers, Rêverie joined Lena on the couch. Like her face and neck, Rêverie’s legs and stomach had become a splotchy mixture of purple and brown. It was an interesting contrast and Lena sipped at her beer to hide her flush, darting her eyes away from Rêverie’s body. That wasn’t fair, she was _mad_ and _disturbed_ at Rêverie. 

“You wanted to talk,” Rêverie pointed out, turning her head towards Lena. She wanted to touch her. Check the wound, yes, but mostly touch her. Fingers in her hair, arm around her shoulder, feel Lena’s ear against her chest and be warm again. She didn’t deserve that right now. Rêverie was certain that she had crossed whatever final line that Lena had for her. That Lena would want an apology.

There would be no apologies.

“Wowee, we’re getting right to it aren’t we.” Lena exhaled, bug eyed, and knocked back about half of her can. A cold feeling developed in her chest that then merged with the knots in her stomach. So much had happened and Lena hadn’t really had a chance to think about this.

“You convinced yourself that I had changed,” Rêverie suggested, raising her eyes to Lena’s face. “That I was a good person. That I was not the monster I told you I was.”

“They made a monster.” Fiddling with her drink, Lena struggled to find the words to describe what she wanted to say and how she felt. She was conflicted, and still a little angry but most of all she felt like the world was unfair. Unfair to Rêverie. Unfair to her. Maybe she hadn’t expected a happy ending, but part of her had built up this ideal that she’d desperately wanted with Rêverie there at her side. “That’s what you told me, innit? They made a monster and now that monster wants to destroy what made her.”

Hearing that from Lena was a shock and despite Rêverie pushing that narrative at Lena, it was one that _hurt_. But then, the truth did often hurt. Her can crinkled in her hand as she squeezed it tighter. “Oui.”

Rêverie was clearly on edge. Whatever had been running through her head when she’d killed Essex had broken something down inside her. Lena could hear it in her voice, see it in the set of her face. Lena wasn’t going to give up on Rêverie. She didn’t think she could If she did, then everything _she’d_ accepted and done had been for nothing. “If the monster you think you are destroys everything she’s built, the _trust_ she’s built in a mad quest to kill her maker, what’s left for her after?”

“ _Trust_?” Rêverie recoiled, staring at Lena. “Do you not see it? You told me I would do the right thing. I did do the right thing. Just because it goes against your morals does not mean it is _wrong_.”

Wiping her thumb under her eye, Lena shook her head. “That’s what scares me, cause I can’t see that you did do the wrong things. At least some of ‘em. Those people needed to be stopped, but I know that killing them… wasn’t there another way? That one bloke, you didn’t kill him. What was different about him?”

“I do not know. Why waste time and energy killing him when releasing the tape would do the same thing to his career, and cost Talon their leverage. There were others I did not kill, when it was not necessary.”

Leaning forward, Lena poked Rêverie’s arm. “Why don’t you just keep doing that? Wouldn’t exposing these people work better or sommat? When they’re alive, I mean. Trials, investigations. Sure it might take years but if you drag Talon out into the light there won’t be any shadows for them to hide in.” 

Hiding went against Lena’s nature. She’d disappeared for a time, could _still_ disappear, and she didn’t like it. Rêverie _must_ have witnessed at least one nightmare.

“I _operate_ in the shadows. You cannot count on the courts to do the right thing.” Widowmaker hadn’t been the only assassin or shadow in the world. There were those like her, who killed because they were ordered. There were those who had their own agenda, not unlike Sombra. And then there were those who enacted justice and vengeance where justice had failed. She’d just never considered herself one of them until she’d gone on this hunt. Rêverie thought that maybe it suited her. A different kind of spider.

Turning more towards Rêverie, Lena brushed her fingers through Rêverie’s hair. “What if you’re doing exactly what Talon wants you to do?”

“Pardon?” She’d had the same thought herself when she’d started. But she rejected it. And she rejected it now. “Non. _Non_. I do not think they are using me to clean house!”

“A list of names and locations that was exactly what you wanted? Attack plans that were exactly what we wanted? I dunno, but looking back to Cairo it seems kinda suspicious to me.”

“Have you shared this suspicion with the others?”

Lena smiled. “Yeah, they’re doing some digging of their own. We stopped their plans in Numbani too, but...God only knows what else they’ve got planned that we’re just not seeing.”

“If that is the case, all that I have done these last weeks is for nothing.” Rêverie slid down the couch, pressing her hands to her forehead. 

“Not nothing!” Lena took her hands and pulled them away from her head. “I think you’re having an effect. There's some infighting. Got some reports of that, and the people who’ve turned themselves in weren’t even on that list. Maybe they seeded some names for you to take out, but I think we got more than they wanted us to get. Last word was some major fight went down between some of the head honchos. Reaper’s gone quiet. Winston hasn’t heard word of Sombra or that other lady since you went on the run but neither of them are that easy to find.” Widowmaker’s betrayal had been like a catalyst.

“If Talon is really tearing themselves apart, we need to help them.” Deep down, Rêverie knew that Dr. Essex had been placed on that list deliberately. A loose end that needed to be snipped. But some of the others were in deep cover, and with no indication they were a liability to Talon. So who had planted the information, then? The work was too sloppy for Sombra and Rêverie had never fully trusted Sombra’s loyalties to Talon anyway. Which was certainly ironic, now.

She could see some panic setting in. People were turning themselves in rather than risk her wrath. But the worse part was that she had to admit that Tracer was right. Talon had used Rêverie one last time. “Perhaps you may have a point in exposing Talon to the world.”

“I promise I’ll let you forget that eventually.” Lena shifted closer. “I know you’re an assassin, Rêverie. I know that you can’t change overnight. I just want you to be the better person I know you can be.” She blinked her eyes to clear them. “Bugger…”

Sighing, Rêverie put her arm around Lena and pulled her into a hug. “I am sorry that you saw that. That was not...it was not supposed to be like that.” It was a frightening thing. She’d never lost control during a kill before. She simply wasn’t like that. But Essex had represented everything that had been taken from her. What was worse, Rêverie knew there were others who deserved the same fate. Those that called the shots, the men and women who’d personally overseen her transformation. “This is a revenge story, chatton. There is going to be blood. You are right, I am that monster still.”

Rêverie’s finger tipped Lena’s head up, and Lena looked up at her through reddened eyes. Rêverie wet her lips. The way Lena was looking at her made her want to try. If not stepping out of the shadows entirely, at least finding alternate solutions. “Maybe only a few need to bleed. The ones most responsible. The others we can shine a light on.”

Lena hadn’t thought revenge was the right thing to do. And if she could make Rêverie see that there were other ways to get the justice she deserved, there might be hope yet. Hell, part of her wondered if even Reaper could see the light. No one was irredeemable. “You...you said something about children.”

Digging her nails into her palms, Rêverie nodded. “There was a boy. But I do not remember much, only that he is dead and I killed him. There might be others.” She twirled a hand around her head. “I could not tell you any more than that, and I am afraid of what could happen if I remember more.” 

Her eyes were glistening. “I lied to myself. That I felt no guilt. But it was there, always, buried deeply. I cannot let myself remember more than that. You’ve already brought out enough.”

“I won’t push you, luv.” Lena rested her head on Rêverie’s shoulder. “I was spitting mad that you left. I mean, I understood why, but I didn’t like it.” It hadn’t really sunk in what Rêverie was doing until earlier this night, when the doctor’s body had slumped to the floor and Rêverie looked like she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown. It had shaken her. Yet here she was cuddling into Rêverie’s arms.

“I’ve gone plum nutters.” 

Lena’s hair was soft under Rêverie’s fingers. She’d learned to enjoy the texture of Lena’s undercut and it had turned out that she’d missed it. Pulling Lena into her lap, Rêverie started to stroke a hand up her thigh.

Lena caught it and stopped her. “Not really in the mood right now. Sorry, luv.” 

“ _Je suis désolé_ …” Lena wasn’t flustered or playing along like their usual game, and Rêverie wasn’t going to push her. She watched as Lena got off of her lap, trying to ignore a cold stab of fear in the back of her throat. It was a strange feeling, like she’d lost whatever small chance she’d had. Maybe they’d been doomed from the start.

“Lets go to bed.” Lena took her hands and tugged until she was standing. She grinned, and this time her eyes smiled too. “Beds nicer with you in it.”

And just like that, Rêverie’s fear lessened. “All right.”

“Rêverie?” Lena tilted her head as she pulled her towards the bedroom. “I’m sorry. About the monster thing.”

“Non, it is all right. You made me realize what I was becoming again.” That made sense to Rêverie, at least, and Lena just nodded like she understood.


	24. Je T'aime

“Amélie. Amélie.” The voice roused her. She was laying in a wide bed, white sheets covering her legs and hips. Familiar eyes gazed down at her. She laughed and touched Gérard’s cheeks.

“Good morning.”

Gérard matched her smile, leaning down to kiss her. His face was a little scruffy from not shaving, but it was their honeymoon and Amélie was quite taken with the look regardless. She liked her women dashing and her men scruffy. “Did you see the news?”

“I just woke up, I don’t know how I could see any news, chere.” Amélie grabbed her phone, paging through her mail. Her eyes widened at one of the subject lines. “I got the part? I got the part!”

“You got the part!” Gérard picked her bodily off of the bed and swung her around. “ _Je t'aime mon coeur!”_

Amélie laughed until she was set down, then threaded her arms around his shoulders. “Can things possibly get better, hmm?”

Leaning his head down, Gérard pressed their foreheads together. “Oui, they can get better.”

“They can get worse.” Amélie touched his cheek again. Through the window she could see faceless red eyes, arranged in a pattern of seven. “Mon chere…we both know how much worse it will get. How this story will end.”

“This is adieu then?” Gérard covered her hand with his own. “Amélie was not so dead as you wanted to believe. How often did you retreat here, and forget that you had done so?”

“Adieu. For good.” Leaning up, Amélie kissed Gérard. She let it linger, ignoring the eyes staring at them. When she stepped away, her cheeks were wet. “It is time to lay Amélie and Gérard LaCroix to rest.”

He caught her hand. “Do you have a safe place?”

Smiling, Amélie squeezed his hand, “I do not know. I like to think so.”

The sound of snoring greeted Rêverie as she woke. She rolled onto her side, pulling Lena close. Lulled by the warmth of Lena’s body, Rêverie drifted off back to sleep.

**-**

Sleep had never really come easy to Lena. Even before her accident she’d rarely gotten more than six hours. And after the accident she’d sometimes had nightmares about fading out of time again.They continued even to this day, but now she had new terrors to keep her awake at night. Chasing Rêverie around the world always a step behind had caused her subconscious to summon up the worse possible images and sounds whenever she closed her eyes. The threat of her wound reappearing didn’t help with that either, even though she wasn’t even all that afraid of dying.

Lena was the kind of person to skydive and deploy her parachute at the last possible second. Maybe, just maybe, some small part of her would be okay with it if she was just a fraction too slow. How many times had she held off on recalling well beyond the limits of her safety? One day she’d slip up and that would be the end of it. That was part of the excitement.

Her attempt to sleep only lasted a few hours. She’d tossed and turned, still hearing Essex’s final breaths. And for all that Rêverie acted like it was nothing, Lena was certain it had shaken her too. A person didn’t cry like that if they weren’t affected by it. Rêverie’s hands had been shaking. Her whole body had trembled.

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow and gently traced the contours of Rêverie’s face. Waking up in the hospital had been disorienting at first. She hadn’t known where she was or even _when_ she was. After her mind had settled she’d realized that Rêverie was gone. Even McCree and Pharah had stuck around. But not Rêverie. She’d convinced herself that it hadn’t nearly broken her heart.

Rêverie could have left during that short time where Lena had actually been asleep. That she’d stayed had been kind of a relief. Lena wasn’t going to abandon her, not now and Rêverie staying was a good sign, Lena decided. She wouldn’t accept another attempt to abandon her. She’d already compromised too much of herself and Rêverie couldn’t expect to carry on without compromises of her own. 

“Enjoying the view?” Light brown eyes looked up at her as Rêverie turned her head into Lena’s hand. 

“Just glad you didn’t go anywhere.”

“Cherie, I did not wish to leave you again.” Rêverie lifted a hand, lacing her fingers through Lena’s hair. She sounded a little groggy, and not at all her usual alertness like most mornings. It had been easy to leave Lena though. Not because she wanted to, but because when Rêverie focused on something, she could put aside everything else. In hindsight, she felt a little guilty that it _had_ been so easy. 

It reminded Lena of how this had all started. The two of them alone, hiding from the world and learning a new kind of dance. Lena leaned down and kissed her, drawing a sleepily surprised sound from Rêverie. Rêverie parted her lips, pulling Lena deeper into the kiss. Lena stoked a fire within her and she was afraid that she had lost her way. Once, she feared feeling. Now, she feared being cold again.

Lena suddenly found herself on her back, Rêverie’s lips on her throat, teeth nipping at her skin. She whined in frustration when Rêverie stopped what she was doing. Lena opened her eyes to see Rêverie looking down at her. “Why’d you stop?”

“Are you okay with this?” After last night Rêverie didn’t know if Lena would want her to touch her ever again, let alone the next morning.

“Yeah. Real sweet of you to ask and all.”

“ _Bien_. I’ve much to make up to you for.” Rêverie leaned back down and traced the shell of Lena’s ear with her tongue and whispered, “ _J'ai envie de toi._ ”

The throaty French made Lena melt. “I want you too. _Baise-moi_.” Lena’s pronunciation of ‘bayse moy’ was atrocious but at least she was enthusiastic about it.

“Oh, you’ve been studying your French,” Rêverie laughed. Her voice dropped an octave. “You and your clever tongue, cherie. Say that again.”

“ _Baise-moi._ ”. She pushed Rêverie’s tank-top up, stroking her fingers along the curve of her breasts as she sought out Rêverie’s mouth with her own.

Rêverie was certain at this point that Lena was pronouncing it wrong on purpose, but didn’t mind. There were ways to get her back. For starters, she flicked her tongue at Lena’s lips, searching for entrance. Lena opened her mouth, and Rêverie whispered in the worst cockney accent she could manage, “Blimey, if this isn’t a cuppa tea.”

Lena threw her head back, cackling loudly. She grabbed a pillow and smacked it into the side of Rêverie’s face. Rêverie looked shocked, then grabbed the other pillow and lifted it over her head. She brought it down onto Lena’s face. “Liberté!”

The laughing somehow got louder despite being muffled by the pillow. Rêverie didn’t apply any pressure, simply lifted the pillow up and smiled down at Lena. “You are a dirty cheat, using a pillow like that.”

Grabbing Rêverie by the tank top, Lena yanked her down and kissed her soundly. Laughter bubbled up from deep inside her and she giggled into Rêverie’s mouth. The giggling only got worse when she felt Rêverie smile into her lips. Wrapping her arms around Rêverie’s shoulders, Lena let her head flop onto the bed. Looking up at Rêverie, she snorted, before her face cracked up and she started to laugh again.

Twacking her with a pillow, Rêverie found herself laughing too. And once she started she really couldn’t stop. Like a river overflowing its banks, Rêverie doubled over, her shoulders shaking as she laughed hysterically. Lena’s arms tightened around her and she let herself be held until the fit had passed. 

“Now do you feel better?”

“Oui.” Rêverie sniffed, lifting her head and then resting her forehead on Lena’s. “I have laughed more in the past few months than I have in ten years.”

“I’ll cop to that!” Lena rubbed her nose against Rêverie’s. “I think...I think maybe we kinda needed this.”

They had. At least Rêverie had. She closed her eyes, and breathed.

Lena wiped at tears on Rêverie’s face. “We’ll be all right.”

“I did not need the reassurance.” The protest felt forced even to Rêverie. Heaving a sigh, she sat up, straddling Lena. Locking eyes with her, Rêverie then pulled her tank top over her head and tossed it aside.

“Oh nice,” Lena murmured. “That’ll do.”

Rêverie’s hair fell in a curtain around their heads as she leaned down and kissed Lena. Deep and powerful and longing, it left Lena gasping for breath and yearning for more. Then Rêverie kissed her again and her head was spinning. Rêverie left a trail of kisses and bite marks down Lena’s throat, tenderly stroking a finger around the edge of Lena’s chronal accelerator, where the metal and skin met.

“Oh…!” Lena squirmed, pressing her palms into the sheets. The way Rêverie was touching her seemed almost reverent.

“ _Je t'aime,_ ” Rêverie whispered, her lips ghosting across the skin of Lena’s thigh. The words slipped out and her face grew heated.

“Wha..?” Lena asked. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking how I cannot wait to hear you scream.” There was an almost feline purr in Rêverie’s voice. Desperate to distract Lena from understanding what she’d actually said, she added something in French that made Lena’s toes curl. 

Shit. Lena arched her back. “Please...oh god please.”

“Mm?” She hadn’t even started yet and already Lena was begging. Now that was music. She feigned innocence. “Are you done already?”

Laughing, Lena tugged on Rêverie’s hair. “Come on, you’re killin’ me here!”

“Well then.” Rêverie trailed a finger up Lena’s thigh, paying particularly attention to the tendon that led to her pelvis. She was rewarded with a shudder that ran all the way down to Lena’s feet. Placing a kiss on that same spot, Rêverie murmured, “That will do.”

Lena looked down at the way Rêverie was laying between her legs and the predatory look on her face. She nearly forgot how to speak, but she just had to taunt her. “You learned that from me, didn’t you.”

“Careful, cherie. You might regret such statements.”

When Rêverie lowered her head, Lena quickly decided that she had absolutely no regrets about that statement.


	25. Being More

Nothing ever lasted. Sooner or later, Lena had known that they would have to leave the safe house, and strike at Talon. So on the fourth day they’d huddled in their knickers around the table and hatched a plan. It was daring.

It was also probably really stupid, and relied on a number of factors, the biggest of which was luck. Lena had called in a few favors, Rêverie had threatened a person or two. Talon was smart enough to keep many of their servers at different sites, but they still had to communicate with each other. It had just been a matter of finding the weakest link in the chain and exploiting it. With the right technology they could open Talon’s books for the world to see. And then maybe Widowmaker could be put to rest.

Lena thought there was some irony in that, considering how Overwatch had originally collapsed. “You know, this probably isn't the time, but there's a good chance we're not gonna get out of here alive, so there's sommat I gotta tell you." 

Rêverie leveled a look at Lena. "That had better be something very important, we're a little busy, if you have not noticed."

Lena shrugged, flashing a grin. "It's very important." Bullets ricocheted nearby and she dove, rolling behind a slab of concrete. "You might got a point there, luv. I’ll tell you in a moment." Darting out of hiding, Lena blinked into the air, flipping as she did so and firing a burst into Talon’s entrenched position. It kept them from going anywhere and she had a good laugh over it.

“Maybe we should have asked for help,” Rêverie mused, peering through her scope and tracking a soldier as he made a dash for safety. He was too slow, and she reloaded in the time it took for his body to hit the ground.

“Wassat? Rêverie wants help?”

“Non.” They’d discussed bringing in Tracer’s allies, but Rêverie had vetoed the idea. They were here for something very specific and she wanted as few variables as possible. The only help she’d accepted from Overwatch had been Lena’s follow up suggestion of a diversion. A thousand miles away there was a very angry Gorilla wreaking havoc. It might have helped, but Talon had still been ready for them. “This had better work.”

“You’re lucky I know some people who know some people. Gimme cover!” Giggling, Lena launched herself towards the entrance. She heard Rêverie shouting a curse at her, which only made it all the funnier. She _lived_ for this. She’d probably die like this.

Lena disappeared past a group of guards, and ran down the hallway. The layout of the base was pretty similar to the last one, which meant she could find the computer systems easily enough. Bursting in, she kicked one man in the face and then spun around and punched his friend in the throat. Not bad, if she did think so herself! “Hey luv, you read?”

“I read.”

“I’m just about to start. Just wanted to say, I _need_ to say… I love you.”

Rêverie twitched so hard her next shot missed by three meters and she had to rush to fresh cover as storm of bullets came for her position. The resulting stream of cursing over the comm made Lena smile. Rêverie didn’t have to say it back. Lena was content with what she had.

Once, Reaper had used a device to try to steal information on Agents from Overwatch’s computer systems. Now, Tracer plugged in a similar device. In a way, the goal was the same, but the outcome was going to be something completely different and better for the world as a whole. They were going to blow Talon’s computers wide open. It wouldn’t stop them right away, or even all that quickly but it would curtail their activities for the foreseeable future. And if they did this right they’d have a window into Talon for some time to come.

It might not be the river of blood that Rêverie had originally wanted to see, but it could accomplish what she wanted by destroying Talon from the inside out. And it would probably be more effective. If only it would go _faster_.

“Come on,” Lena danced from foot to foot. “Work faster!” She spun around, sighing. “I’m glad I told her loved her before I got in here. You know, just in case.”

“Come on. What is taking so long.” Rêverie had run out of easy targets. Talon had wised up and no one was trying to move as long as she was up there. It gave Tracer more time to work, but it the amount of time passing was starting to make her nervous. Nothing ever went well when it took this long. She was still reeling from Lena’s confession.

Before she could ask Lena her status, the sound of rippling cloth alerted her to movement behind her. Rêverie twisted out of the way of a shotgun blast, rolling to her feet and leaping over her attacker’s head. She held her barrel on Reaper’s mask, eyes narrowed. “I thought you had rabbited, Reaper. What are you doing here?”

“What happened to you?” Reaper cocked his head. “You were the _best_. We were a _team_.” Anger edged into his voice, and Rêverie realized just how personal this was. Very well. She could use that. 

She rolled back as he became enveloped in encroaching darkness, launching a grapple and swinging for cover. “Did I break your heart, mon canard? Are you upset, do you want to cry about it? Just like Morrison? I’m touched. I did not know you felt that way about me.”

“Not. Funny.” Even through the mask, Reaper managed to look like he was glaring. He followed her path, then ran along the wall, trying to predict where she’d land. “I don’t know how she got into your head, but she did. Now look at you.” 

“Look at me? I pity you.” Rêverie pulled up and let go, flipping backwards with her arms outstretched and her legs stiff. She landed on another rooftop as Reaper reached her and brought her gun up as Reaper pressed his shot pistol into her stomach.

“You’re slipping up, making mistakes. It’s going to get your little girlfriend killed.” Reaper lowered his voice, the tone as much a warning as a threat. “When Talon is done with you you won’t remember how to even wash yourself.”

“Tell me, Gabriel?” Rêverie wasn’t budging, her barrel centered on Reaper’s face. “What do you think will happen to you, when Talon does not want you any more? Do you think Overwatch was the only organization with secrets. The only organization that used its members?”

“Unlike you, I don’t turn tail and run because of a nice ass in spandex.” But his finger came off the trigger.

“I suggest you open Talon’s books and take a good hard look at what is inside. You might find real reasons to be angry.” Rêverie laughed, leaning back on one leg and swinging her rifle to rest it over her shoulder. “Do not worry. The whole world will get a peek.”

She blew Reaper a kiss, then somersaulted off of the roof top. Rushing to the edge, he looked down. She was gone. He cursed in three languages and shoved his weapons into his coat. 

Many voices at once started talking on his comm in varying degrees of distress, and he ripped it out of his ear. “What the hell did you do.”

No answer was forthcoming, so he jumped down and rushed inside. Alarms were blaring, soldiers running full speed but he shouldered and shoved past them until he reached the servers. He recognized Tracer’s device immediately. Growling, he ripped it out and crushed it under his boot. The computer screen was blank, but as soon as he sat down it lit up with code and page after page of information. Pictures, schematics and flowsheets. Most of it was encrypted but there was enough unfiltered and decrypted information that Talon was in serious trouble even before enemy code breakers got to work.

This was what Widowmaker had meant. She and Tracer hadn’t just stolen information from Talon servers, they’d broadcast it to the world. 

Reaper pulled his mask off, sinking back into the chair and suddenly too weary to indulge in his anger. The display reflected in the glaze over his eyes. Names and faces, the reports from hundreds of missions and so many deep cover agents. Talon’s entire MO had been uploaded to a thousand servers and was already being passed around the world. He doubted even Sombra could erase it in time. 

Widowmaker’s words echoed in his mind. _I suggest you open Talon’s books and take a good hard look at what is inside._

She might have a point and it grated on him. A feeling in Reyes’ gut told him that there was more to what had happened to make him who he was than he knew. He started downloading everything he could find that mentioned his name. Everything on Mercy and Overwatch, Blackwatch and Jack Morrison and more. In the process, something else drew his attention, and he leaned forward, tabbing back a few pages. Once he’d seen it, he realized it had cropped up in several other places.

“What the hell is _Tempest_?”

Reyes leaned his chin on his hands, the words burning into his memory. Tempest and Zurich…and it went back even further than that.

He pushed away from the desk, Gabriel Reyes disappearing as Reaper affixed the mask back into place. “Okay, Widowmaker. I opened the books. Guess it’s my move now.”

Walking through now empty hallways, Reaper wondered where Widowmaker would go or what she’d do. Hell, he wondered _why he cared_. And maybe some small part of him envied the peace she’d found. The only peace Reaper could look forward to was the peace of death, and that was something that was denied him.

**-**

Lena leaned on Angela’s desk, casually pushing aside one of the folders that was haphazardly spread across it. “What’re you thinking, Angela?”

“I’m thinking that we’re going to be very busy very soon.” Angela lifted her head. There were bags under her eyes and her hair was as mussed as her desk. “And I am thinking that you need a break.”

“What, so I’m fired?” Lena straightened, folding her arms across her chest and fixing Angela with a stern look. 

“Of course not. Besides, everyone knows you can’t go more than two days without trying to help someone.”

“One,” Winston interjected. “The longest I’ve ever seen is one. Twenty-three hours, fifteen minutes to be precise.”

“Twenty-three hours, fifteen minutes, then.”

Lena picked up a file. It opened up to Gabriel Reyes’s face. Angela also had his mask face-down on the desk. Lena frowned. “I hope he listened. I hope he took a look into Talon’s files and saw they’re no different from what he thinks Overwatch is.”

Smiling gently, Angela took the file from Lena. “Overwatch got really bad, Lena. Most of us just didn’t see it until it was too late. A willing blindness in some cases.”

“We’re not letting that happen again. If Widowmaker can see reason, maybe Reyes can too.”

As much as Angela longed for the old days and the family she’d built and lost, she just didn’t know if that was possible. “I suppose that’s a matter of will, too.”

“Enjoy your vacation, Lena. If we need you, I’ll call.” Winston said. He hoped she actually did take a break.

“You better.” She pointed at Winston, then blinked over to him to give the big guy a very big hug. “I’ll try to keep us both out of trouble.”

Angela’s phone went off. She looked at it, her expression immediately brightening. “Ah! It’s Fareeha, I need to take this.” She got up, giving Lena a kiss on the cheek as she slipped out.

She passed a lone figure leaning against the wall outside, and her eyes met Rêverie’s. Rêverie smiled at her. “Merci, Angela.”

Angela put her hand over the bottom of her phone. “For what?”

It wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over for many years. Rêverie felt as though she’d started a fire. But for now she could rest and let it burn. Let others deal with it for now. She would return to it eventually, but there was something she needed to do first. Something she needed to discover. She’d set out on a journey and she still had to finish it. “For taking a chance on me.”

Thinking this might be the last time she talked to Rêverie for some time, Angela had to know. “Why did you choose your name? Rêverie?”

“They wrote nightmare on my skin.” She looked down at her arm, _Cauchemar_ still plain to see. “I wanted to be more. I wanted…I wanted that dream to never end. A hope that I would not wake and find the nightmare again. Perhaps to the people who deserve it I am that nightmare still. But to those that don’t, those that might mean something to me, you and... ”

She shrugged, glancing towards the office. “I wanted to be someone. I wanted to be me. Not Widowmaker, not Amélie. But _me_.”

“What are you going to do now?” Angela put her hand on Rêverie’s arm, over the tattoo.

Rêverie patted her hand, remembering something from long ago, in another life. A missed chance. “I am going to take Lena to the beach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, this was a journey. Stay tuned for the epilogue!


	26. Epilogue

Standing on the balcony of a four-star hotel somewhere in the Caribbean, Rêverie looked out over the sea. “I have no idea what to do with myself.”

“There’s that beach,” Lena pointed out. She wrapped her arms around Rêverie from behind, pressing her face into the small of her back. It was really kind of weird to her. The spider was gone. _Cauchemar_ had been removed from her arm, as well. Rêverie had talked about replacing the tattoos eventually, but had no answer when Lena had asked her with what. They’d find out in time, and Lena only hoped she’d be there to see it.

Lips curving, Rêverie turned in Lena’s arms. “You just want to see me in a skimpy swimsuit.”

“You’ve found me out.” Leaning up on her tippy-toes, Lena kissed her. Rêverie’s arms folded around her and they held each other.

They were on borrowed time. Rêverie expected any moment for blood to appear on Lena’s chest again. They’d never found a believable explanation for what had happened, and no matter how much Angela or Winston tried to reassure her, she just didn’t accept it. She couldn’t, that wasn’t how Rêverie’s life worked. She didn’t catch lucky breaks, she didn’t get to keep the things she wanted.

But for those reasons, she would enjoy the time they had while they had it. “Do not worry, Lena. I’ve packed the perfect swimsuit.” 

Letting go of Lena, Rêverie returned her attention to the view outside. “I have been thinking.” She felt Lena grab her hand and she leaned against her. “I have been asking myself a question since I chose my name.”

“What’s that then?” Lena studied her, exploring the features of Rêverie’s face with her eyes.

“Who am I? Who is Rêverie going to be? I still do not know the answer, and I think the only way I am going to find out is by trying to be a person again.” A real person. Not a killer. Not an assassin. Not whatever thing she was when she helped Lena, because she sure as hell wasn’t a hero. Even if she’d started to enjoy that. Just a little.

“Oh. So you’re gonna go all soul-searching, then?” Lena was sure Rêverie didn’t have space for Lena in this. Or whoever she finally settled on being wouldn’t need her. It hurt, but Lena could understand that. She didn’t want to hold Rêverie back. “I guess that’s fair.”

Knowing that Lena didn’t always think as highly of herself as she let on, Rêverie said. “I did not say I wanted to be _alone_.”

Lena immediately perked up. “All right!” She couldn’t stay away from being a hero forever, but she’d earned herself a vacation. If the world needed her, she’d answer the call. She always had, and she always will. _That_ was the right thing to do. But Rêverie needed her, and if she was truthful with herself, she needed a break too. Lena had her own soul-searching to do.

“I love you.” Rêverie whispered the words so low that she knew Lena couldn’t hear them, but this time they were in English. Someday, she’d feel like she’d be able to say them to Lena’s face. Tell her how she really felt. Someday she’d feel like she just might have earned the right.

“Lets get room service,” Lena suggested. She stroked Rêverie’s cheeks, gazing into her eyes. “We can watch some silly movie. I’d like to avoid the news for awhile, I think I’ve heard enough about Talon to last a lifetime. Or six!”

“It is what they deserve. What’s more, they think the Widowmaker is still out there.” Rêverie snorted, putting her arm around Lena’s shoulders and stepping inside. She walked through the suite with her. “They will _always_ be looking over their shoulders, searching for a glint from a window or a rooftop, never knowing if I am there. They will hear footsteps in the dark and wonder if death has come for them. They will go mad from fear, terrified of the monsters they built in their hearts.”

That was just a little terrifying. And arousing. Lena found herself asking, “And then what?”

She stopped in the middle of the common area, a smile cold and sure appearing on her face. “And then one day, they will find that all their fears have come true.”

 

****

~Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this long journey is finally over. Or at least it's at a rest stop. Thank you for reading, and for following Rêverie's growth with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on two anon prompts. (Tracer takes a bullet for Widowmaker, and Tracer's harness needs to recharge at precisely the worst possible moment). And well... Lena did take a bullet for Widowmaker. Technically. 
> 
> Ongoing.


End file.
